


Red Thread.

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Broken Bones, Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lemon, Reader-Insert, Romantic Soulmates, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Wedding Fluff, hoohohohohooooooohooo the current timeline is so delitchous ughghg, i am the biggest ushi stan just the thought of him sends me spiralling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 50,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21998728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x wakatoshi ushijima | soulmate au | current timeline (university)]What do you do when your soulmate loves volleyball more than he’ll ever love you?
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Hinata Shoyo, Ushijima Wakatoshi & Kageyama Tobio, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 298
Kudos: 1758





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> rated E for: graphic smut, non-con/sexual assault, alcoholism/addiction

You were only vaguely aware of being moved when the ground beneath you disappeared, the chill of bathroom tiles vanishing from your face. Heat blossomed across your numb skin and you swayed in the air like you were in some sort of purgatorial hammock. It’d be nice to drift back off, but a part of you that wasn’t totally shit-faced realized what kind of compromising situations you could be getting into. A susceptible, unconscious university-aged woman at night? God, no. Startled, you managed to wrench your eyes open. Squirming, you were just about to scream for help before you smelt it. It hit you in the face—cheap, piney deodorant and old sweat. The nausea turned in your stomach.

“Ushi…?” you slurred, blinking up. He looked down at you, familiar scowl at all.

“Yes,” he replied flatly, his voice rumbling through his chest wall to yours.

“Ah, fuck,” you groaned miserably, throat clogged with the aftermath of whatever you’d done to your poor body in the past couple of hours. He was the last person you wanted to see, but of course, he was here. “Sorry…”

“If you were really sorry, I wouldn’t keep getting these calls about you passed out in people’s houses.” He scoffed to himself, continuing forwards. It occurred to you that he was carrying you like a bride with no complaint. Strong arms kept you close to his body, your feet dangling uselessly. One was particularly cold… you’d lost a shoe somewhere.

“Why d’you keep answering if you’re so sick o’ me, then?” you retorted, too drunk or high to remember the delicate art of shutting up. Your head lolled back. Without a single care, Ushijima whacked your scalp against a doorframe, making you recoil into a ball with a haggard whine.

“Because we’re soulmates, and if I left you out here, you’d probably end up dead in a ditch. That’s all.”

Right. How could you forget, what with 牛島若利 in black on your forearm as a _constant_ reminder? Tenderly cradling your angrily pulsating head with one hand, you clumsily smacked him in the chest with other and hooked a finger around his collar. With the weight of your arm you yanked down the athletic shirt. [Surname] [Name], snug under the right collarbone, right where it’d been all along.

“Let go.” He shook you agitatedly like a box of jellybeans, and obligingly, you rag-dolled. The night air was frigid on the exposed skin of your slutty outfit. You shivered reflexively, shrinking back into a ball. You didn’t want to (or maybe you did), but Ushijima was the closest thing to warmth you had, so you clung to him.

“You stole my _car_?” you accused when you saw the familiar vehicle parked poorly against the curb. Its engine was still running, sputtering. You hit Ushijima against the chest angrily, but your open palm bounced off pathetically. “What the fuck? I thought I said it was hands off!”

“Sorry, did you _want_ me to leave you here?”

For a guy that’s got the emotional capacity of a peanut, he’s got good one-liners. You bit down on your lip and begrudgingly let him set you down. It was a rough deposit. Ushijima’s patience with you was very clearly up and he hopped into the driver’s seat, his ridiculously large frame barely fitting into the sedan. You grabbed onto the roof of your car, feeling the ground sink and twist and turn beneath you. You crumpled to the asphalt, closing your eyes woozily because they’re too heavy to stay open. The front of your already sore head clattered on the road, thudding emptily. Shit, shit, shit.

“Throw up.”

Ushijima’s back, and you’re not even sure if you passed out in between then and now. He’s got you leant over in the grass of the front lawn, one arm hugged around your waist, the other on your back. His body heat is so hot it burns. Bitter drool streamed out of your mouth. Numbly, you stared at a blade of grass. Your brain’s so, so fuzzy.

With an obvious sigh, Ushijima turns your head to him. For a second, he’s so close, and the angle—it’s like he wants to go in for a kiss. But then, without warning, he jabbed his index and middle finger down your throat. His nails clawed the roof of your soft palate. Immediately, you vomited, so sick it felt like your life was trying to leave you with each heave. You had never felt uglier in your life, Ushijima holding you up so that you didn’t drown in your own rainbow-coloured puke.

“Thank you,” he murmured sarcastically once you finished, hocking spit. He flicked his hand of fluid and wiped it on the ground disgustedly. “I have a game tomorrow.”

You moaned wearily in response, something that was an attempt at _fuck you_. The message probably got across. He was used to it by now.

Ushijima hauled you back up, your toes dragging on the ground. Without another word he tossed you into the passenger’s seat. You felt him reach over you, buckling you in. The sudden gentleness was so strange you cracked an eye open, looking at the way the car’s shoddy light refracted in his gold irises. His hair brushed against your cheek. Maybe. The gossamer touch was so fragile it was all you could think about until you blacked out.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Soulmates got each other’s names tattooed on them. Some were unfortunate, getting unbearably common names that made the search impossible. Some were foreign, meaning the soulmate was off in an entirely different continent. Some tattoos were just in unfortunate places, like the face.

Yours was pretty unique and gave you a solid chance. Ushijima Wakatoshi, neat on your left forearm. You’d searched all your life, asking everybody you met if their name was Wakatoshi before they could introduce themselves to you. You googled him endlessly—and, some time in elementary, you got your first ping of a junior high volleyball player at Shiratorizawa Academy.

Sendai, Miyagi was very far from Oita.

You’d like to say that you had forgotten about him and moved on, but you couldn’t. How could you? This star volleyball player was your _soulmate_. Made for each other, destined for each other, all for the purpose of knowing the highest level of love. He was so close, but so far.

As you grew up, you always wondered if you should’ve found the bravery to write him from Kyushu. You weren’t as flashy as he was, so if he was looking, he wouldn’t find you. A part of you was too shy. What if you were mistaken, and he was just some other Ushijima Wakatoshi with some other person’s name on his body? He was 21 when he played for Team Japan at the Rio Olympics. You were 16, just finishing your first year of high school. Watching him on TV, you wondered if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him. He was an _Olympian_ , and what about you?

You were just some kid.

And yet, in desperation, you endlessly searched about Ushijima Wakatoshi’s soulmate tattoo. It became a ritual, you staying up until ungodly hours of night on your phone beneath the covers. There was just never any information. He kept it to himself, and no matter how many pictures you scoured, you couldn’t see it.

So, you never moved on, but you decided to let go.

You got through high school. You made friends and lost friends. You graduated. You dated other people who didn’t believe in the soulmate thing, but those fizzled out pretty quick. You went to university, pursuing your major, and pulled yourself through the drudgery of day-to-day life and young adulthood.

It’d been a random day when you’d saw the name “WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA” in the corner of your eye on an Oita Weekly paper in some vendor’s display. Your neck nearly snapped when you turned to get a better look. You just about lost your mind—he looked the exact same as he did when you first found him in junior high, grimacing in his picture like he’d never learnt to smile in his life.

You were 18; he was 24. You forced yourself into a meet and greet line up at one of Shweiden Adler’s games and showed him your forearm, face flushed red, breathless with anticipation.

And, like the idiot meathead he was, he just signed his name over his own name.

“Go shower,” he commanded, kicking off his shoes next to your face. The sound was earth shattering. You watched him weakly, looking around with the strength of your eyeballs alone. His apartment was as neat as ever, empty bareness punctuated only by the presence of your own things, scattered throughout.

“Thanks for nothing, Soulmate,” you rasped past stomach acid and cheap vodka and burnt weed and heartbreak.

He slammed the door so hard you felt it jolt up the bones of your jaw. Then—silence.

Closing your eyes, you finally let the tears pool. So much for true love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im glad ur all liking this angst premise as much as i enjoy writing it hehe

You woke up on the couch, a white Shweiden Adlers windbreaker laid over your chest. It was a total surprise to you—you really thought Ushijima would’ve left you lying in the boot room to rot. You wiggled your toes. He hadn’t taken off that one shoe you still had on you, though. Win some, lose some.

Your head pounded as if there was an army of little hateful people jackhammering on the inside of your skull. Your tongue was cotton-ball dry. Throat? Fucked to no end. It felt like your whole head and neck had ballooned up twice the size. It took you forever to manage the strength to open your eyes, and even then, the light was too damn bright and stung you with physical damage. Your phone… right, you’d lost your phone last night. Fantastic. Squinting around, you tried to find a clock. The microwave in the kitchen read 3:55P. Ushijima was probably in the middle of his game. You missed it again, then. Though you’d never actually been to one yet. Sighing, you raised your hand and rubbed your eyes, looking at the black and red smudges of sparkly makeup on your fingers. 

When you found the motivation to actually get up, you noticed a crinkly white plastic bag sitting on Ushijima’s modest coffee table. Scooting forwards, you ignored the soreness radiating in your body and looked inside. There was a jumbo sized Pocari Sweat, a travel-sized bottle of ibuprofen, and a small packet of what looked to be rice crackers. The receipt was in there, too, but nothing else. Grimacing, you opened the drink and downed some pills. 

He wasn’t making it easy to hate him.

In the shower, you shivered as scalding hot water ran over you, feeling each droplet like shards of glass against your paper-dry skin. You reached for your shampoo, clumsily missing and knocking it to the ground. Too unbothered to pick it up, you took the black bottle beside it instead. Ushijima’s soap was some garbage 3-in-1 bullshit that came out alien blue and smelt like a high school fever dream. For a pro athlete making decent money, he acted like he was broke. The suds clung to your curves, washing away whatever sticky grime you had on you. With the scent and warmth, it felt like he was with you there for a second…

You suddenly threw up on yourself, and the moment was ruined. Okay.

It was a Saturday, so you didn’t have class, but you did have homework due on Monday. There was absolutely no way anything was going to get done today, though. You’d have to spend the rest of the evening recovering. You wandered out into the apartment, hugging the white towel wrapped around your body. Ushijima wasn’t home most days, and on the odd occasion he wasn’t training or playing, you were at school. His apartment had one bedroom and one bathroom paired with the kitchenette. It was made for a bachelor and was decorated by one; every wall was bare, and he didn’t own a lamp. Despite the cramped space, you couldn’t remember the last time you spent any time alone with him. 

The queen-sized bed was made, almost every crinkle in grey linen smoothed out. He was the type to make his bed every day, even though you didn’t see the point, considering the fact that you just sleep in the same bed every night anyways. His closet door hung open. The only things he owned were athletic clothes—save for an old pair of jeans and some formal wear. They hung on hooks, neatly organized by colour. You were too tired to sort through your own dresser at the end of the room and grabbed the first shirt you saw, slipping it over yourself and dropping the wet towel into the hamper. The smooth polyester of whatever expensive wicking fabric this was made out of was easier to tolerate than cotton. The hem hugged your thighs, so you found some underwear and called it a day.

Back in the living room, you opened your laptop. You were still too nauseous to stomach any food, and Ushijima wasn’t the type to keep anything in the fridge besides protein shakes. Texts from your phone filed in. Wincing, you basically punched the mute button as your ear drums ached.

2:59 AM – Yesterday  
 **Yane** : where the fuck did u go !!!!!!!  
 **Yane** : pick up girl  
3:06 AM – Yesterday  
 **Yane** : i called ushi 4 u  
 **Yane** : lrt me notow we ou get homebitchchh

So, you had Ayane to blame and thank for your knight in shining armour. Honestly, you might’ve ended up in a really bad situation if Ushijima hadn’t come for you. You could resent him all you wanted, but he never failed to show up when asked. He was steady, but despite that, he was unreliable as fuck. Any mention of volleyball and he was gone. Poof. You couldn’t remember the amount of times you came home only to realize he was in an entirely different city. What would things look like if you were into volleyball, too? If you were closer to his age? If you had a different soulmate?

Honestly, anything else might be better than this.

You cleared your throat and swiped the tear off your cheek. Nothing from Ushijima besides a single missed call at 3:30 AM yesterday. Everything else was just shit from other people you didn’t care about right now. Angrily, you drowned yourself with the rest of your drink. Picking up the TV remote, you switched it on. It was pre-loaded to the Oita Prefectural News channel, which was broadcasting the Shewiden game live. Your eyes scanned their backs. Kageyama was there—you liked rooting for him. Apparently, he was also from Miyagi, and knew Ushijima even back then. Then, your eyes caught on him. Number 11. 

They were re-playing something, showing each frame in slow motion. His hair looked especially green through cameras; it had something to do with those huge lights in the gym. Ushijima’s broad shoulders didn’t look flexible, but you watched his left arm practically dislocate itself. The ball slammed onto the court. The little box in the side flashed: **93 km/h.** That was _crazy_ fast for something touched by a human.

_“An incredible attack from the unstoppable hitter 11. Sheesh. He takes the final set and secures a tight win for Schewiden Adlers.”_

_“Ushijima-san was a player to watch out for in high school, too, playing for Shiratorizawa Academy’s junior and senior high teams. As captain in his third year, he was defeated by Kageyama-san during the qualifiers for High School Nationals. Kageyama-san is currently the division’s up-and-coming setter and represented Team Japan at the young age of 19. Ushijima-san played with him then too, didn’t he?”_

_“They really are a dynamic duo!”_

You watched Kageyama and Ushijima slap hands. He looked so easy-going surrounded by the circle of his teammates. The camera zoomed in on them and—he smiled. Oh god. _He smiled_. You guessed it’d be kind of psychotic of him not to be happy after winning an important sounding game, but he hardly ever had that kind of face around you. You put your knees to your chin and watched him, your heart pounding in your chest.

This was Ushijima’s place. After meeting him and informing him that you were his soulmate, you moved in instantly. It made sense at the time. There wasn’t any need to get through an awkward dating phase after seeing your name printed on his chest. You were a broke university student and res was sucking you dry. He got somebody to watch his place when he went out for away games. But that had been, what—a half year ago, now? You’d turned 19 somewhere along the way. You and Ushijima slept in the same bed, lived together, ate together… but you hadn’t kissed him. Not once. You hadn’t said I love you or heard it in return. Have you ever held his hand?

Well, so much for skipping the awkward dating phase.

He woke you up again by the sound of the front door closing. You jumped, picking your head up off of your arms. Your laptop had died, so you had to crane your neck to see the microwave clock again—7:37P. 

“Hey,” you greeted nervously, not sure of what to say. You got to your feet, shuffling into view. Ushijima lifted his head as he took his shoes off, a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. He nodded stiffly.

“How do you feel?” he asked, though you couldn’t tell if he was asking it just to be nice, or if he actually cared about how you felt.

“Better now.” You played with your fingers. “Um… congrats on your win today.”

“Thank you.” He stepped into the flat and was about to pass you to go into the bedroom without another word before you stopped him by wrangling out a noise in your throat. He paused and turned to look back at you, clearly annoyed. You stared at his feet, wringing your hands.

“Thank you for yesterday. I’m sorry I was... yeah.”

“It wasn’t the first time,” he replied coldly, without a single hint of sympathy. “I doubt it will be the last.”

Remembering something, he reached into his pocket. He flung the object at you and, stunned, all you could do was slap it to your chest in an attempt to catch. You looked down at your car keys.

“I filled up your gas tank.”

With that, he left, closing the bedroom door behind him. You sighed through your nose, closing your fingers around the metal. You could give up here and go back to the couch. Ushijima was the type to be fine with being alone. If you wanted to, you could continue to bear it—the loneliness. But something tugged in your gut. 

“Have you eaten dinner?” you asked, raising your voice before you could regret never saying it at all. He didn’t answer until after opening the door, having changed into a looser fitting pair of shorts and tee-shirt. 

“Not yet.”

“Me neither. We could… um, we could make something together. If you want.” You cringed at yourself. It was so painfully obvious. But, finally, Ushijima’s inability to take a hint came in handy and he nodded.

“Miso,” he declared.

“You want miso soup?” you repeated, surprised. “You just had a big game, right?”

“You,” he returned pointedly. “Light meals help when you’re sick.”

You noticed his hand drift up his body to his collarbone. To anybody else, it might look like he was scratching an itch. Ignoring your pulse rushing in your ears, you looked down at his name printed on your forearm.

“Are you able to drive?” he continued suddenly, striding back out towards the boot room. Taken off guard, you gaped at him for so long he made a face and reached his large hand out towards you. “If you can’t, give me the keys. I’ll get groceries.”

“I-I can drive!” you stammered. You pointed to the bedroom awkwardly. “I’ll. Get changed.”

“Okay.”

You scurried off. Closing the door behind you, you finally let yourself breathe shakily. Just having him look at you felt so pressuring. Looking down at your hands, you finally noticed something off on your keyring—

Since when did you have this volleyball keychain?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just starting 2 realize furudate mightve based shweidens in sendai instead of oita even tho theyre based off oita miyoshi weisse adlers. awks. pretend they live in oita pls LOL  
> last publication of 2019 and it’s ushi! as it should be 😌

Yeah, you had the occasional spiralling bout where you’d go and get fucked up beyond repair. (Obviously). If you wanted to psychoanalyze yourself, you’d think about how the underage drinking and rebellion got Ushijima’s attention for once. You’d think about how you didn’t actually care about acting out—it just made yourself unable to be ignored instead of being invisible for once. That aside, you weren’t a bad person. You were a good student with a high GPA. You got accepted into Oita University with honours, which had made your parents so proud they sent you off to live on residence without complaint. 

You still haven’t told them that you’re actually living with a man six years your senior now, come to think…

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Eager to have a distraction from your work, you snatched it up. It was strange to see Ushijima’s name in a notification instead of one of your friends.

Today, 12:17 PM  
**Ushi** : A colleague is coming by to drop something of mine off.  
**You** when?  
**Ushi** : Shortly.

He had such an intense texting style that at first, you’d thought he was constantly angry with you. Figures. It suited him. He hardly ever texted you first, so it was surprising… of course it was just something trivial to do about _him_. Irritated, you tossed your phone back onto the couch and tried to focus on your typing. It wasn’t working that well, but you pretended regardless. 

The doorbell rang a couple hours later, right when you’d forgotten about it entirely. Setting down your coffee, you hopped up and answered.

“Osu.” A tall guy greeted, and then started when he looked down at you. He was cute. Almost as tall as Ushijima and a little less broad. He had a nice haircut; the ends of waxed curls were bleached into a cinnamon red that complimented his warm skin. He had a white Shweiden’s jacket on, just in case you mistook him for anything else than a volleyball player.

“Hi,” you returned, annoyed with yourself for wearing your school’s hoodie and sweatpants instead of something more acceptable. You brushed back a piece of hair that had fallen out of your ratty bun. 

“Oh—Wakatoshi said there’d be somebody home, but I didn’t think he’d have a girlfriend.” He leant down at you to get a closer look, and you felt your face warm in alarm. “You _are_ his girlfriend, right?”

“I. Um.”

You didn’t know how to answer that, so instead you spat out something that was most definitely the truth: “I’m his roommate.”

“I see,” he mused, nodding. “He hardly talks about himself, so I had no idea!”

“Yeah,” you muttered, a bit pessimistically. “Tell me about it.”

“Mizushita Yamato,” he introduced, reaching out. You shook his hand, your smaller one fitting snugly against his warm callouses. How long had it been since you’d touched a guy? It lingered on your skin.

“[Surname] [Name].” You realized that your soulmate tattoo was hidden under your sweater sleeve and felt an immense relief for it. Then, a bit of guilt. Why were you so pleased that he wouldn’t know you were Ushijima’s soulmate? 

“Come inside,” you brought up hastily before you could delve further into your own thoughts. “Let me make you some tea.”

“Yeah, sure. Wakatoshi asked me to take his bag back for him, so where should I leave it?” He stepped into the small apartment, looking around curiously.

“I can take it.”

“It’s heavy. I’d never let a pretty girl strong-arm something that’s probably full of sweaty jerseys.” Mizushita laughed, and it was so attractive you had to consciously turn your head away so that you didn’t stare. “I’ll just leave it here, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Anyways. Oita Uni, eh?” He pointed at your chest as you started the kettle and pulled some leaves from the kitchen cabinet. You looked down at the words printed across the front. Mizushita smiled, leaning against the counter. “That was my alma mater.”

“Oh, seriously?” you asked excitedly. “What’d you take?”

“Business. I majored in marketing. Class of 2016. What about you, [Name]-chan?”

First name right off the bat? Ushijima only ever called you [Surname]. It startled you and you had to fumble with your words, trying to concentrate on pouring hot water while not looking like a total fool. You managed to tell him your major and his face split into a smile that had a couple crooked teeth. You stopped yourself. Why were you looking so closely that you were noticing his teeth?

“Damn, [Name]-chan. Honours, too? Wakatoshi could never. Kid doesn’t know what gravity is.”

“Yeah, right?! Once I caught him using dish soap in the shower because he didn’t know the difference.”

The two of you shared a laugh as you sat down on the couch together. It felt good to actually have a meaningful conversation with somebody for once. You couldn’t stop grinning, the feeling somehow so foreign to you after so long. 

“You guys are close, then?” He sipped at his tea, curiously looking over the rim of the white mug at you. You shifted uncomfortably, expression falling. 

“As close as you can be with him, I guess…”

“I know what you mean. He’s a funny guy.” Glancing around the apartment, his gaze resettled on you. Unlike with Ushijima, you didn’t feel like looking away or running when you met his eyes. “Hey, what year are you in?”

“Second.”

“Oh, really?” he exclaimed, brown eyes widening. “You’re still pretty young... wait, how old are you?”

“19.”

“And you’re rooming with Wakatoshi?” he continued, starting to sound suspicious. After all, Ushijima was 25—starting to cross into his late twenties—and you hadn’t even jumped the benchmark past your teens. Your heart dropped.

“It’s a closer drive to school,” you murmured in a weak attempt to explain yourself, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “And we, uh, knew each other. Before.”

“Oh, no way. Are you from Miyagi, too? Do you know Tobio?”

This web of lies was getting horrifically deep. You hadn’t wanted to tell Mizushita that you were soulmates, because you were, simply put, scared of what he’d think. What if it was something like ‘oh… you? That’s all? As if. You’re joking’. Or, on a much more disgusting note: what if you had wanted to flirt with this guy, but he turned you down because you were Ushijima’s soulmate, even though you hadn’t received affection from that guy since day 1?

“Um,” you blurted out, setting your cup down on a coaster. It clattered aggressively. You bowed your head deeply. “I’m so sorry, I just realized I have to get going. I’ve got an appointment in a couple of minutes and it totally slipped my mind.”

“Hey, no worries,” he replied easy-goingly, also putting his mug down. The two of you stood up; you with a lot more urgency than he. Mizushita looked down at you and extended a hand for another handshake, which you took uneasily. “Thanks for the tea, [Name]-chan. Good luck in school.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You shut the door on him and sank down to your knees, hissing out a sigh between your teeth as you clutched your head. God, you wished you were drunk right now.

\---

“Ushijima, you got a text.” Kageyama unwrapped his sandwich, seeing the screen of his companion’s cell light up on the table. Ushijima peered down at it as he took his seat. Swiping, he unlocked his phone to a photo of his bag sitting in their boot room.

 **[SURNAME] [NAME]** : mizushita-san came over with ur bag  
**[SURNAME] [NAME]** : how was your day, wakatoshi?  
**YOU** : Fine. Thanks.

“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself, not realizing he’d said it out loud until his junior raised an eyebrow.

“What is?”

“She doesn’t usually text me things like this.”

“Who?”

Not wanting to launch into the whole story, Ushijima spun his phone on the table so that he could read. Kageyama shrugged after taking a brief survey, his eyes barely scanning.

“Seems normal to me.”

“She called me by my first name,” he realized all of the sudden, brow furrowing. Taking his phone back, he scrolled up to their last conversation last Thursday. There wasn’t much fluff to go through.

 **[SURNAME] [NAME]** : do we have any laundry detergent  
**YOU** : I’m not sure. I don’t think so.  
**[SURNAME] [NAME]** : kk ill get some  
4:56 PM  
**[SURNAME] [NAME]** : hey ushijima you left a pair of ur headphones in your shorts and i washed them by accident. they still work tho  
**[SURNAME] [NAME]** : check ur pockets next time

“Who is this again?” Kageyama asked, accidentally spitting out crumbs as he talked with his mouth full. Ushijima opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. What should he say? Soulmate? 

“Roommate,” he answered after a moment’s awkward hesitation, his jaw tightening.

“Is there anything weird about your roommate calling you your first name?” Kageyama continued skeptically, shoving the last bit of his sandwich into his cheek. “I mean, sounds fine to me.”

“She doesn’t usually.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Typo?”

Ushijima touched his hand to his collarbone, feeling the words in his skin itch uncomfortably. Memories of her collapsed on the floor in a pool of her hair chilled his fingertips. Memories of her crying in bed beside him when she thought he’d already fallen asleep.

“Perhaps.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I dunno how you guys do it,” you sighed, fully depressed. Guen Aki blinked over at you through his blue glasses, dropping Ayane’s hand.

“Do what, [Name]-cchi?” your friend asked. She combed through her eyelash extensions with a red acrylic nail—as she did, you saw **Nguyễn Hùng 秋** attractively scrawled over her wrist.

“Like. Be good soulmates to each other.”

“Damn. Is this about your Ushijima guy?” Aki asked, raising his eyebrows sympathetically. You nodded, fishing pearls out of your bubble tea miserably.

“He flew to Tokyo today for some big match. Didn’t bother asking if I wanted to come. I mean, _yeah_ , I have school. And maybe it’d cause trouble. But the thought of inviting me might’ve been nice, still.”

“I don’t know how _you _do it,” Yane sighed, reaching over and squeezing your arm comfortingly. “Every time you talk about him, you sound so sad.”__

__“You’re like, sure you’ve got each other’s names? It’s not a misunderstanding?” Aki added on skeptically. He showed you his own wrist, **夏川綾音** in a bold font. Yane pointed at it exaggeratedly, jabbing her nail into his skin._ _

__“Yeah. I’m sure.” Scowling, you rubbed your forearm unconsciously. “It’s just… I dunno. He doesn’t _care_.”_ _

__“Even with soulmates, it’s hard,” Aki sighed in agreement, running his hand through his dark hair. With the other arm, he looped it back around Yane’s shoulders. You watched enviously. It was a totally unconscious movement, but the two were so comfortable around each other. You couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like for Ushijima to put an arm around you. “I’ve got this guy in my stats class. His soulmate tattoo is like, Laciann Louis or something? We think it’s French.”_ _

__“What’s he gonna do?” Yane asked interestedly, leaning into him. “Go to France? Get her to come to Japan?”_ _

__“Well like, who knows if they’re actually French? What if she lives in the US or something, right? So, he’s just dating somebody else.”_ _

__“Seriously?” Yane gasped in disbelief, her jaw dropping. “He’s dating somebody else’s soulmate?! I could never even imagine…”_ _

__Her disappointment stung you. Back in high school, you’d also tried seeking out the niche of disgruntled folk who decided that soulmates were overrated. Maybe it’d been fun for a while, but then the thrill of sex got boring and dry, and any ounce of chemistry or affection that had been forged before died out. You traced Ushijima’s name on the table absent-mindedly. “Cow Island”—you’d found it funny at first, but now all it gave you was dread and impossible yearning._ _

__“Anyways. You guys live together, right?” Aki turned his attention back to you, all inquisitively. Not surprising from an engineering major. You nodded wearily._ _

__“That’s about it, though. He’s not interested in me at all. All he cares about is volleyball.”_ _

__“I’m gonna beat his fucking ass!” Yane declared suddenly, shrugging Aki’s arm off of her as she banged her fists on the table. “He pisses me off. You’re hot as fuck, smart, cute…” She listed nothing but flattering traits of you, counting down her fingers. “And all he does is treat you like shit!”_ _

__“Yeah,” you murmured tiredly, stirring your drink with your straw. “But like. What am I gonna do? I can’t force somebody like me.” You paused, your fingers sliding down the plastic cup. “Maybe we’re not soulmates. Maybe everything’s just some fluke.”_ _

__“[Name], don’t think about it like that,” Aki comforted, quick to detect your falling mood (unlike a certain other guy in your life). “Ayane and I had a rocky start too.”_ _

__“The fuck? _You_ were the one who called me a trashy ABG and kept blocking me!”_ _

__“See?” Aki continued, ignoring her, raising a weighty eyebrow. Yane rolled her chatoyant amber eyes._ _

__“He’s right, though. I was _pissed_ at him. We fought all the time.”_ _

__“Seriously?” You couldn’t even imagine it. The two had met before she met you in your first year of post-secondary together. It was pretty insane luck they ended up at the same high school. He was two years older than you and Yane—a much smaller gap than the 6-year chasm between you and Ushijima. Ever since you got to know the both of them, you couldn’t imagine either of them without the other._ _

__“Yeah. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean we got to skip out on putting in the work.”_ _

__“It didn’t make anything any easier,” she agreed, serious for once. “We broke up… how many times, babe?”_ _

__“I dunno. Lost count.”_ _

__“There was this Christmas too, right?”_ _

__“I thought we said that didn’t count because the day after, we—”_ _

__“B-but look where we are now!” she chirped hastily, noticing your expression. She drummed her nails anxiously. “So maybe you and Ushi just need a little more time? He’s one of those strong, silent types, y’know. It’ll just make it even more worth it when you crack him.”_ _

__“Maybe,” you replied wryly, unenthusiastic._ _

__“He hasn’t talked to you at all?” Aki asked, shooting a look at the phone you’d set face-down on the table. You picked it up, tapping on the screen. Only the regular notifications… nothing from him, though it wasn’t like you expected anything in the first place._ _

__“You should call him. Wish him luck on his game or whatever,” Yane suggested hopefully._ _

__“I don’t want to!” you rejected immediately, cringing. “I dunno, it feels… clingy. What would I even talk to him about? We have nothing in common.”_ _

__“You’ve got to be more forceful as the girl!” Yane exclaimed dramatically. “That’s how I got Aki to stop being a stupid dumbass.”_ _

__“She’s right,” he sighed, but with an amused smile. “A lot of guys are really bad at this kind of thing. If you’re not straightforward, they’ll never figure it out.”_ _

__“You want me to call him _now_?” you asked skeptically. They nodded together at you in eerie unison._ _

__“Fine,” you snapped. “Let me show you just how dry he is.”_ _

__Putting it on speaker, you dialled him by tapping his name. A half year of living together and you still didn’t have a decent profile picture for him. You could probably load a better one off of Google images. You dropped your phone down onto the table. Leaning in, the three of you waited as the dial tone buzzed._ _

__“He’s gonna pick up on the third one,” you whispered. “He always does.”_ _

__On the third tone, it clicked, and his voice crackled through._ _

__“Hello.” He answered formally, like you were calling into an establishment._ _

__“Hey, Ushijima,” you replied, feeling awkward. You rarely called him. In fact, had you ever called him out of the blue before? Yane was usually the one to get a hold of him if you were blacked out, and if you ever did want to talk to him, you texted. You had no clue of what to say._ _

__“Is everything all right?” he prompted in the silence._ _

__“Y-yeah, um…” You looked up to your friends for help desperately. _‘Good luck!’_ , they mouthed to you emphatically, eyes flashing with urgency._ _

__“Good luck on your game,” you echoed obediently, clearing your throat in the hopes it would make you sound less robotic. “Um. When do you play?”_ _

__“In an hour or so,” he replied in the exact same deep, neutral tone. “Thank you.”_ _

__“Right. Uh… how’s Tokyo?”_ _

__“Hot. It’s the same as ever.”_ _

__Yane’s nails acted as claws and they practically cut into you when she reached over to grab your hand. Her face was contorted in all sorts of ways. You had no idea what she was trying to get you to say, but you figured she wanted you to say _something_ , so you inhaled sharply and let the weighty million-dollar question fall out of your mouth._ _

__“So. Ushijima, next time… d’you think I could come with you? To your games.”_ _

__“Would you like to?” he asked, for once, expressing an emotion—surprise. You forgot about Yane and Aki entirely and leant forwards. You could envision him in front of you, his thick eyebrows raised slightly and his angular face softening around the edges._ _

__“Yeah, I would! If that’s not too much trouble. I like travelling, and… I guess it’d let us spend more time together…”_ _

__“I see.” Rustling and static. You held your breath for so long your eyeballs almost popped. “I’ll see what I can do next time.”_ _

__“You will?” you replied, shocked._ _

__“If that’s what you’d like.”_ _

__“Y-yeah, that’d be great.”_ _

__“Is there anything else?”_ _

__“Uh… no. Good luck!”_ _

__“You already told me that, [Surname].”_ _

__Cocky bastard. You felt your lips twitch._ _

__“Well, twice doesn’t hurt, does it?”_ _

__“I don’t need luck to perform. But thank you, again. See you.”_ _

__“See you…”_ _

__He hung up. Leaning back, you let out the sigh you’d been holding, and gasped for breath. Yane squealed, clearly pleased._ _

__“He’s not that bad after all! He’s better than Aki was, anyways.”_ _

__“All right, could you quit roasting me?”_ _

__The three of you did cheers with the remainder of your drinks, toasting to a better future with you and Ushijima… hopefully._ _

____

\---

“Kageyama.”

“’Sup.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Ushijima was normally a straightforward person anyways, but his unsure tone of voice got Kageyama to look up seriously. There was still quite a bit of time before athletes could enter the gym for warmups, so the starters were relaxing in the changerooms. Kageyama plucked an earbud out and nodded up as his senior.

“How do you and Hinata Shoyo deal with distance?”

“Distance?”

“As soulmates. He’s in Brazil right now, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” At the mention of the word ‘soulmate’, he touched his hip. Ushijima’s careful eyes tracked the movement. No doubt that was where 日向翔陽 was inscribed. Kageyama raised thin eyebrows, his blue eyes curious. “What’s this about?”

Ushijima sat down beside Kageyama on the bench, working his jaw thoughtfully as he picked at tape on his fingers. It was a rare sight to see him look so lost about something. Kageyama leant in, intrigued in what the mountain of a man was so concerned about he needed to confide in _him_ of all people.

“I met my soulmate,” he admitted finally. “She lives with me in Oita.”

“Oh, nice.”

“I was just wondering. How do you feel when Hinata isn’t around?”

“Fine, I guess?” Kageyama shrugged nonchalantly, rolling his shoulders. “We might be soulmates, but that doesn’t really mean much else is different. That dumbass is doing his own thing.”

“It’s just that…” He twiddled his thumbs. “Ever since we met, I feel uncomfortable.”

“What, like she’s bad?”

“Not… no. It’s…” He was fully struggling. A rare sight to see.

“I’m not gonna spill if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kageyama mentioned, surprisingly insightful for once. Ushijima nodded gratefully, looking down at his hands.

“Sometimes she ends up at parties half-dead and it makes me feel like…” He drummed his fingers on his knees, staring forwards intensely. “It irritates me to even think about it. I don’t know how to stop her from doing it. It’s just… uncomfortable.”

“So you’re worried about her?” Kageyama prompted. Ushijima nodded, as if that simple word had been out of his reach for all this time.

“And now, while we’re in Tokyo, I can’t help but wonder what she’s up to. She just called, and I thought that maybe…” He clenched his fingers into fists and relaxed them, scowling. “It’s distracting me. I haven’t felt this way about anybody before. It’s a waste of headspace before a game. It’d be easier if I didn’t know about her at all.”

“Pfft—!”

“What is it?” Ushijima asked, alarmed. Kageyama lost his composure and burst out laughing, drawing curious gazes from their other teammates.

“People called _me_ insensitive… Ushiwaka, you’re fine. You’re just in love.”

“I’m in _what_?” Ushijima repeated incredulously, sounding offended.

“When you care about somebody, you think about them. That’s just how it works. Like with Hinata? It’s not like I don’t miss him or anything, but I trust him, and he trusts me.” Kageyama snorted, pulling his phone back out. “You’re just caring about your soulmate. That’s normal.”

“Then, how do I make it stop?” 

“Man, you really are stupid when it doesn’t have to do with volleyball.” Kageyama smirked, pleased to be the knowledgeable one for once. He stuck his headphones back in and dialed up his music, shutting off the lock screen of Hinata and him smiling together into the camera. 

“You don’t. That’s the whole point—it sucks. Welcome to the Lover’s Club, Ushijima.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u guys had a good new years. im battling a cold... waka, take care of me...


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m heading to practice.”

“Have a good one,” you mumbled reflexively, looking blearily from your textbook back to your laptop. If he was leaving for practice, that meant it was some time in the early morning. A whole night had passed. This energy drink cocktail you’d whipped up really didn’t fuck around—you must’ve been awake for at least 24 hours by now. Ushijima’s footsteps sounded to stop in the boot room, causing you to look up. You’d gotten used to the door slamming shut milliseconds after he said his goodbyes, so it was strange for him to actually stick around for long enough to hear yours.

“Did you forget something?” you asked without bothering to mask your tiredness, making eye contact with him. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

“If you’d like to come today, you can.”

“To your practice?” you clarified, your eyebrows arching. He nodded simply as if it were a _yeah, duh_ , even though he had never once invited you out before.

“Normally people need passes to spectate V. League practices or games, but if you’re with me, it’s fine. Only if you want to. Otherwise you can stay home.”

“Um—no, I’ll go! I just need to change and grab my things—!”

“Take your time,” he cut off, holding up a hand. You smiled and shot to your feet, suddenly reinvigorated.

Running into the bedroom, you hunted down your charger and notebooks, messily shoving them into your backpack. What had gotten into him? He never invited you to go anywhere, much less to the practice of the sport he loved _oh_ so much. Did he actually remember what you’d asked him over the phone those couple of weeks ago—about wanting to come with him? Was he trying to close the gap between the two of you on his own accord?

In any case, you were excited. It felt like you were getting closer to him, one step at a time.

\---

He offered to drive. Maybe on another day you would’ve declined, hating the idea of people helming the wheel of your precious hand-me-down Toyota, especially since you were paying for your auto insurance out of pocket. But since he was suddenly showing himself to be some sort of ‘changed man’, you allowed him without saying anything in retort. Besides, you didn’t know the way.

It was always kind of funny, seeing Ushijima squish into the driver’s seat and throw it all the way back just so that his knees didn’t scrape the wheel. He stuck your keys into the car and revved it up naturally. With a whack he slammed his large left hand down, then arched back so he could reverse out of the spot. You inched away from where he’d grabbed the seat and tried not to stare at his side profile.

To your surprise, when you’d moved in, the pro athlete didn’t own his own car. He could probably afford one just fine, just like he could afford some fancy penthouse in the city. But he preferred to run to the train every morning and every night, and this apartment was close to everything a single man would ever need. Figures he’d have some weirdo reasoning like that. His apartment only allowed one parking space per unit anyways, so it all worked out.

You hugged your bag to your chest. As he took off into the inner city, the car was quiet, save for the purr of the engine. You always blasted your music on your own, but you’d turned it down, worried he’d hate your taste. What to talk about… 

“Um,” you blurted out, looking at his face as he rolled up to a red. He was an irritatingly careful driver, refusing to toe even a kilometre over the speed limit. It agitated you enough to choke down your shyness in order to focus on something else. “Have you caught up to My Hero Academia?”

“No. I only remember one of my high school friends telling me to read it.”

“Oh… so you’re a manga reader. Do you watch anime?”

“Not especially. Though it interests me, sometimes.”

“You seem the type to be into shonens with some insanely strong characters,” you muttered agreeably, nodding in deep thought. “Maybe like One Punch or something…”

“What’s that about?”

“Huh? Oh.” You jumped, not realizing he was actually interested in the topic. He glanced over at you and the two of you made eye contact right before he turned merged lanes, turning his gaze back to the road. Just a shoulder check. You put a hand over your chest, feeling your heart jump underneath the pads of your fingers.

“So, um. There’s this guy who’s trained so hard he’s unbeatable and can beat everything with one punch… there’s lots of crazy strong villains, but he has yet to be undefeated.” You weren’t sure if your synopsis was starting to sound lame or cheesy, but Ushijima nodded, clearly listening closely.

“He sounds reliable. I like him.”

“He’s bald, too, because he trained so hard. And he mentors this cyborg kid. We can watch it together—um. Only if you’d like.”

“Sure, if I have the time,” he replied easy-goingly, not even sparing you another look. Thank god for that, because your face was so blotchy and hot and red that the face of the sun would’ve been jealous.

\---

The gymnasium was way bigger than you imagined it would be from TV and YouTube clips. You’d never been to a volleyball match or practice before, only ever spectating the classic summer sports from elementary field trips like baseball. It was almost stadium like here, and you couldn’t help but nearly break your neck by looking around in childish glee. Even the air had a cool tingle to it, like big things were going to happen at any moment.

“Then, I’ll be down there. If you need me.” He pointed over at the stage, looking aside at you. He held out a card that you took without really knowing what it was. Looking down, you saw his signature frown in a little square on the left. His name was printed in fading black font under your thumb. His ID card?

“In case anybody asks,” he clarified, seeing you flip it in your hands. You nodded, clutching it to your chest, and gave him a smile you tried to keep from being too big.

“Have a good practice, Ushijima.” 

He left, descending the stairs into the changerooms. You picked a spot close to the rafters so that you could put your feet up—but also, here, you could see Ushiwaka in motion best. Honestly, it wasn’t even just being able to get a VIP sneak peek of a Div. 1 V. League practice that excited you. It was the fact that you were here as Ushijima’s plus one. You and he belonged together as a unit. It reminded you of your parents or other married couples… it wasn’t just you flimsily following along after Ushijima. You and he had come here together.

“Ah, [Name]-chan? That you?”

You looked up, recognizing Mizushita’s voice. It was surprising to be noticed in such a huge arena. He grinned down at you, a towel and duffel slung over his body.

“I see… Wakatoshi’s not very subtle, is he?”

“Not subtle about what?”

“I mean, he’s the petty type that likes to show off. If we have an important match coming up, he always brings a lady friend along to hype him up. Looks like we’re in for a crazy practice day today.”

_Always brings a lady friend_?

“Was Yaeko-chan busy today?” he continued curiously, not noticing your crestfallen expression. You scrambled to pull yourself together and grinned nervously, touching your hand to your itching neck.

“Oh… I’m not sure.”

“Well, darn. I was going to ask her for free taping again. Guess it can’t be helped. Watch me too, [Name]-chan?”

“Ha ha, yeah. I will, Mizushita-san.”

_Yaeko-chan. Yaeko-chan. Yaeko-chan._

Your heart was sinking faster than you could handle.

\---

“Chance ball!”

“Nice receive! Wakatoshi!”

“Left, two blockers!”

Your eyes followed the ball is it blew up to your height on the other side of the gym. People cheered, clapping your soulmate on his back. He nodded, jogging back into position. You dropped into your seat when he turned back towards your side of the gym and prayed he wouldn’t look up into the stands.

“Natsukawa Ayane. You’re always on your damn phone, and _now_ you decide you’re too busy to reply!?” you grumbled. She left your spam of texts unread and didn’t answer your calls, either. She might be in the middle of a performance or something, so you didn’t actually blame her for being MIA. You weren’t so desperate you wanted to harass Guen, too, but Yane was the best snoop you knew. If anybody could find out anything about Ushijima’s “Yaeko-chan” using a name as information alone, Yane could do it. She could pull up anybody’s life story from a blurry picture alone.

Was that stalker-ish of you, though? To obsess over a girl’s name just because she _might_ have some sort of relationship to Ushijima? Hotly, you crossed and uncrossed your legs as Ushijima scored yet another point. It wasn’t like he ever talked to you about anything, so how would you know anything about his life? Wasn’t it only right that you felt some insecurity about this?

In the end, you got no work done throughout the entire practice. You really should’ve just stayed at home. This could’ve all been avoided if you’d kept your nose out of his business. Pacing, you ignored the pleasant chatter you heard in passersby’s conversations. You stewed in your own malcontent. Maybe you shouldn’t be pissed—after all, you didn’t even know the whole story yet. But by the time Ushijima had finished changing and met back up with you at the door, you weren’t yet able to muscle off your scowl.

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked immediately, crossing your arms at him. If you wanted answers, getting them straight was probably the only way.

“Sure.” He lowered his energy drink, looking down at you anticipatorily. 

“Who’s Yaeko?”

“Yaeko?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising. “How do you know about her?”

“Mizushita-san asked me why she wasn’t here,” you all but snarled, trying to keep your temper in check. Was he actually trying to keep her some sort of secret from you? 

His gaze shifted as he thought back. 

“Jizaema Yaeko… she was my third-year trainer when I was a first year at Shiratorizawa. Her sports medicine skills are unmatched.” His ochre eyes grew soft with fondness. “She reconnected with me when I relocated to Oita. Apparently, she moved here too. I figured having a reliable set of hands around wouldn’t hurt. Though she trains for basketball now.”

“Oh, so what. I was just her replacement? Is that all?”

His explanation did nothing to calm you down—actually, you felt even worse than before. Had he ever spoken so highly of _you_? You were always one to show him off. _My soulmate’s an ace volleyball player. What about you?_ But did he ever even speak of you at all? You couldn’t imagine one instance where he’d bring you up in a casual conversation like he was with this Yaeko girl. The lack of connection you felt with him resonated more strongly than ever. Hell, if he didn’t have your name tattooed on his body, he wouldn’t know it at all, would he?

“You would be a terrible replacement for Yaeko-senpai,” Ushijima replied bluntly, looking offended for her sake. “I don’t recall you ever saying you had sports med experience.”

Your heart turned into stone right then and there in your chest. It was a slab of marble. Heavy, immovable, and cold. At least it wouldn’t break like this. You hated to acknowledge that there were tears brewing in your eyes, and you never wanted to admit that somebody like _him_ had ended up making you cry so much. But apparently, you weren’t pretty enough, smart enough, athletic enough, or memorable enough to him. You were just somebody he got stuck with. For that, Ushijima Wakatoshi was so cruel to you. 

“Oh. I see. _My bad_.” You curtsied sarcastically, hiding your face. “Sorry I’m useless to you.” You scoffed and turned away, stomping off. Ushijima blinked after you.

“Where’s she going?” he muttered to himself, digging into his pockets and pulling out the car keys. How did she plan on getting home? And she seemed upset, but for what possible reason?

His father always had lectured him on the fickle nature of women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still battling this cold; thanks for everybody's warm wishes though !!! ushijima angst will help me pull through hoohoo


	6. Chapter 6

“—and so that’s why I’m pissed at him. Again.”

Guen nodded, clearly relieved that your spiel had finally started to dry up. Obviously, he’d be home while Yane was out dancing for a charity event—the damn otaku had just gotten a new game for the Switch, apparently—so he’d been the first person you’d called. It took a couple tries to get through, but once he finally answered, you demanded to be picked up for a comfort rant session. Despite his twitchy desire to go back to gaming, he paid you attention and (unlike a certain somebody) listened.

“You know, you’ve got to be fair to him, too. It sounds like you’re overreacting. He said she was just his old trainer, right?”

“No, listen—it was the _way_ he said it to me,” you seethed, touching your fingers together in left over irritation. “You weren’t there.”

“All right. Well. Did you _tell_ him you felt jealous? Or did you just dip without saying anything else?”

“Why the fuck should I tell him that him drooling over another woman in front of his soulmate makes me _angry_?” You rose up to your feet, storming into the kitchen to find snacks. Opening a bag of chips without asking, you tried to munch away your feelings. It didn’t work, and you wailed through the mouthful. “Man. I don’t think I can do this anymore, Guen.”

He sighed knowingly, turning back and resting his arm on the couch back to face you. “Ah, headache… you sound like Ayane.”

“Okay, but like, you and her are good. Like, you guys are totally fine. So whatever. Me and him, right?” You motioned aggressively, the plastic bag crinkling with each swing. “We are _fucked_ and nothing’s even begun. Period.” Grumbling, you rolled up the chips and ducked, hunting for something sweet. You dug through their cabinet bad-temperedly. “Maybe I should just move out and forget about him completely.”

“He’s your soulmate, [Surname].”

“Well he sure doesn’t fuckin’ act like it!” you garbled through jelly beans that were probably long expired. You shot back up to your feet to glare at Guen. Even though he was just trying to do the right thing, he was the only one in your line of fire. “Like, what else am I supposed to do here? It’s like trying to fall in love with a brick wall! Ha. I might actually get some emotion back from a goddamn brick wall than from _him_.””

“Are you really making it any easier for him, [Name]?”

His words slowed you down and finally you shut up. Sensing he was finally on the right train of thought, Guen continued gently. He was an older brother to a set of petulant twins, after all, and had a Reliable Eldest Child switch come on whenever he was actually feeling useful. It was a totally different side to him, but one you appreciated immensely more than his gamer nerd persona while you listened.

“It’s never going to be easy just because you know that the endgame is supposed to be you and him. Both of you have to try.”

“I _have_ been trying. Weren’t you listening?”

“Enough so that you have no regrets?”

“Well…” You put down the jar, gaze heavy. Guen nodded in your peripheral, looking pleased with himself for defusing the situation.

“You can’t expect him to put everything in if you’re holding stuff back.”

“Fine, you’re right,” you grumbled, crossing back to the couch and sitting heavily. You hugged a pillow to your chest, figuring you were still allowed some time to mope. 

“Hey, what was this girl’s name, again?” he asked all of the sudden. “You never told me.”

“Yaeko.”

“…wait, like, Jizaema Yaeko?”

“How do _you_ know her, too?!” you exclaimed, whipping your head to stare at him. 

“I don’t,” Guen replied bewilderedly. He leant back. “Not personally. But like, Ayane and her brother have family in Sendai, right? Takashi got married to a Yaeko. We went to their wedding a couple autumns ago.”

“No fucking _way_.”

“Small world. I think we even have a picture… yeah. This might be her.” He turned his phone around to you. Guen and Yane looked the same as ever, beaming cheerily while lined up in a row. A grinning groom you recognized from pictures with Ayane had a bride clinging to his arm. She had a pretty smile that complimented a cool rosiness to her, like the way red rooves drink in ocean refracted sunlight. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Ushijima had a right to get worked up over her—she was gorgeous.

“Can I play Smash or something?” you asked miserably, leaning back into your seat. “But actually go easy on me. I need to work off steam.”

“Fine, fine.”

\---

Guen dutifully dropped you off at your place after dinner. Yane, who’d gone out for celebrations, wouldn’t be back until much later. Ushijima had taken your housekeys with him along with the car, so if he wasn’t home right now, you were in shit luck. You were too scared to check if you had any missed calls on your phone, so instead of facing your fears, you elected to ignore them entirely and rang the doorbell instead. You heard it blare through the echo prone home.

He answered after a couple heart-stoppingly long beats, looking not at all different from usual when he recognized you in the doorway. You remembered Guen’s words, but tonight wasn’t your night to be the bigger person. Nodding at him, you kept your mouth shut as you darted inside and kicked off your shoes. You tried making a beeline to the bedroom before he spoke, very suddenly.

“I’m sorry if I offended you earlier.”

You froze in your steps, toes bearing your weight.

“People tell me I tend to be rude. It wasn’t my intention.” 

Just his mere presence felt like it was trying to push you to the ground from behind.

“Yeah, well. All’s well that ends well,” you muttered, biting on the inside of your cheek. “Is that it?”

“If you’d like, I can sleep on the couch,” he offered unexpectedly. Frowning, you finally turned back to look at him. He was as neutral and unreadable as ever, though you were starting to wonder if there was even anything of worth to read at all.

“Why? You don’t even fit on it.”

“I assume you don’t want to be near me,” he replied straightforwardly, cocking his head. You dug your nails into the heels of your hands.

“Does _that_ offend you?”

“Not especially,” he answered. “Why?”

“Because we are soulmates, and if I am mad at you, your only solution shouldn’t be shoving even more distance between us.” You scowled and shook your head, gripping your bag strap so hard it burnt in your palm. “Fine, whatever. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“But—” he attempted, but you cut him off angrily.

“You don’t fit. I already said.” You glared. “I’m showering, okay?”

You brushed him off without waiting for the affirmative and stormed into the washroom, slamming the door shut. It was only after you’d locked yourself in that you remembered you hadn’t brought any pyjamas with you. Great. Outstanding move, idiot. You didn’t have the dignity to march back out there and grab clean clothes, so you just stripped as-is and threw yourself into scalding hot water. It was an attempt to dissolve away your stress, but you were just as bad as you were getting out than in. 

When you were finished, you cracked the door open (after listening very carefully for footsteps) and peeked around like a total coward. Only the boot room’s light was left on, dimly illuminating the rest of the flat. Ushijima was already in the bedroom, the door closed with no lamplight under the crack. It wasn’t good to be fussy or two-faced, you knew. Still, you figured any rational person would try and put up a little more of a fight to show that they cared.

“Whatever,” you hissed to yourself, hoping he wouldn’t hear, but also kind of wondering what might happen if he did. “Suit yourself, Ushiwaka-sama.”

His couch was meant to seat two and no more. There was no way he could’ve slept on this unless he was a fan of letting his legs hang out in the air. It took a little twisting, but you settled onto it easily enough, throwing the blanket over yourself. It was strange to be sleeping here instead of the bed. You’d never actually tried to intentionally fall asleep out here before. You slept alone in the bed so often that you’d gotten used to it, but on the few nights he was home, he radiated intense heat. Constantly. You had gotten used to sleeping with thinner blankets as not to overheat all the time. He wasn’t even close to you or anything, but sharing a blanket with him was like getting into the sauna. It was weird to feel cold for once you shivered. The soaking wet hair probably wasn’t helping, but you were too prideful to get up and knock on the door for more blankets.

It wasn’t like you had taken up his offer to sleep separately with joy, or that you were proud of yourself for doing a considerate thing and letting him keep the bed. It felt like the rift between the two of you was getting wider and wider and the longer you waited, the harder it’d be to fix it. But, you also didn’t think you could stand to be alone with him right now, so maybe this was for the best.

You were pretty agitated and didn’t think you could sleep well, much less at all. But you realized you were being woken up when you felt the surface beneath you disappear. Every memory of your blackouts rushed back and you spasmed, shocked to be carried. It was Ushijima. Of course it was him.

“What are you—!”

“It’s a man’s responsibility to ensure the comfort of the women around him,” he replied simply, hacking out the saying like some sort of old geezer would. You stared at him through the bleariness of sleep until you felt him lower you into bed.

“Were you waiting for me to fall asleep so that I wouldn’t put up a fuss?” you asked suspiciously, the pieces clicking in your head. He stood and walked back to the door, ignoring you as you sat up.

“Perhaps. Good night, [Surname].”

“Wait. Why?”

“I told you,” he said, hand on the doorknob. “You deserve the bed.”

“Why do you think we should be _separated_?” you pressed, enunciating coldly. “For my sake? You never even asked me; you don’t even _know_ me, so why do you think you get to make my decisions? Is it because I’m younger than you?”

“No,” he murmured, brows furrowing as he looked back to you in the dark. “I just thought it’d be more comfortable this way.”

_“Are you really making it any easier for him?”_

“Stay with me,” you blurted out, before you could regret anything. Simple and clear wording. No other dressings or thoughts; just the truth. You clutched the sheets in your fingers, looking away. “I don’t want us to be apart, okay? If we’re fighting, I don’t want to go to bed mad. We’re soulmates. That’s for forever. We should be dealing with things when they come up properly.”

“…sorry, I’m not really following.”

You just about lost your shit.

“What could you have possibly misunderstood from that?”

“How can you be so faithful in me? Because we’re soulmates? My parents were, too, and they still divorced.” He shook his head, not in the mood to elaborate on that whole _child of divorce in a soulmate-unified world!_ bomb. “The tattoos don’t mean anything.”

Your marble heart cracked.

“Maybe not to you, but it does to me,” you strained, teary. “You’re telling me you’re going to give up on me before even giving it a shot?”

“What about you?” he asked sharply, eyes glaring brightly in the darkness. “What does ‘giving up’ even mean to you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You waste the good health your parents gave you.” He shook his head. “I hate people who can’t make anything of themselves.”

“Oh, okay. So you hate me?” you breathed in disbelief. His jaw twitched, and he took a deep breath, one you heard whistle all the way down to the bases of his lungs.

“No, I don’t. You just confuse me, and it’s not something I want to deal with right now.”

“If you don’t hate me, then you should at least give me a chance.” It was all you could manage. Talking any more would lead you to burst into tears, and you didn’t want to add that onto the list of things gone wrong within 24 hours. Collapsing down into bed, you curled up into the covers, hiding your face. “Night.”

He didn’t say anything else and closed the door behind him. You heard it click behind him gently. For a second you hoped he would come right back and apologize—but of course, that door stayed shut. You focused on your breathing. Don’t cry, [Name]. You’ve cried over him enough.

You weren’t sure when—it was about the time you had given up on him completely—when you felt the mattress dip. Half-asleep, you opened your eyes and saw a large blurry figure hover over you on the other side of the bed. Your heart jumped in fear—but then you remembered who it was and lay your head back down.

“Ushijima…?” you slurred. There he went, waking you up again without any consideration. He slid under the covers, back facing you. His voice rumbled deeply. It was comforting to hear, no matter what he said sometimes. 

“You were right. I didn’t fit.”

You laughed to yourself, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut again. You were still kind of mad, but right now you were sleepy, and didn’t have the capacity for negative emotions.

“Yeah, well… you should’ve listened.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow. Come to my practice again.”

“What for? I thought I was just a replacement.” The hurt from just a few hours ago started to peak in the haze of your fuzzy memories. You frowned, wanting to roll away before he whispered again.

“If I wanted to replace Yaeko-senpai, I would’ve asked for somebody else. You’re the only one that can be you.” He rolled over onto his side, giving you a look that pierced you straight through your soul. You struggled to keep your eyes open enough for long enough to hear what he had to say.

“A person only has one soulmate.”

“Right, right…” You closed your eyes, feeling the uninvited smile warm your cheeks. “’Kay. If you say so.”

“Also.”

“Eh… I’m trying to sleep, y’know…”

“You can call me Wakatoshi.”

When you re-opened your eyes, you were looking at his back again, broad in the cotton white tee-shirt. Unsure if you heard him correctly, you spoke quietly, reaching out to prod a single finger into his spine.

“Wakatoshi. Don’t wake me up again.”

“Good night, [Name].”

Maybe things were getting through to him after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it suddenly sick fic because i spent the last week with a cold? absolutely. i am the author. i am the creator of this world. i can do whatever the fuck i want, including imagine myself as ushi's soulmate _whbsskssmlnlas_  
>  also, if you notice that some of my ocs seem familiar, good on ya! i love my ocs and can't bear to part with them, so they travel with my reader characters in all sorts of aus. lol.

For now, it was okay again. You and Ushiji—no, you and _Wakatoshi_ were starting to acknowledge each other a little more. You went to his practices during the rest of reading week, but you got less and less work done each day when you started to watch him more closely. You didn’t know squat about the technicalities of the sport, but he was impressive, right? It made you overwhelmingly proud. Like, _yeah_ , he just hit the ball that hard! That’s my fucking soulmate, bro!

So, when you woke up with a cold, you immediately cursed every single deity there was out there to curse. This was not the time for sicknesses. You had your 40% weighted paper due by the end of the break, and you weren’t going to be able to finish it when you couldn’t remember what 2+2 was. Also, you were in no condition to drag yourself to a practice. Considering the fact that you wouldn’t be able to go to them once classes were back in session, you felt like your own body had betrayed you and wasted your opportunity to get closer to Wakatoshi.

“You aren’t coming today?” Wakatoshi asked cluelessly when he came back to the bedroom, seeing you listless in the bed. You couldn’t even remember waking up, though you’re sure you had to have since he was somehow already dressed to go.

“I am sick,” you replied, but you’d lost your voice overnight, and it came out as a reedy _heeeeghhh_. He stepped forwards and combed back the front of your hair. You opened your eyes to meet his careful gaze as he touched the back of his hand to your forehead. It was frigid to your fever and you flinched away, unable to bear his touch. He sighed, standing up.

“All right. Rest up.”

“Yeah.” 

This was miserable. You weren’t really the type to get sick, but once you went under, you felt like you were sick forever. How was your paper going to look, now? Would it be academic misconduct to get somebody to finish it for you? Definitely. And what about practice with Wakatoshi? What if you missed something super cool today? The disappointment was devastating.

“You should invite some of your friends over.”

You raised your stuffy head, squinting at him. He had his large hand resting against the doorframe, like he fully meant to leave, but was held back by something.

“Sure…?” you replied, unsure of why he was bringing that up so suddenly. He didn’t care if you brought guests over, as long as they were out by the time he got home. It was strange of him to recommend it on his own accord. 

“I’ll rest easier knowing you’re taken care of.” He nodded and left with that. You lay back into bed, dazed. Your internal body temp was already sky high, and Wakatoshi wasn’t helping one bit.

\---

You ended up texting your group chat of two high school friends who were eager to visit. (Yane was a complete germophobe and Guen would probably hate you for tearing him away from his Switch during reading week more than once.) After all, Okita Rei was shooting to enter med school, though nobody doubted that she’d make it in. Kuromine Chie was in some honours cellular and microbiology program, studying shit that totally flew over your head. You could really use their knowledge right about now. They seemed more helpful than WebMD at the moment. Rei came with Chie, who held a basket of cough drops and tea and other goodies for sick people. You smiled at them; it’d been a while since you’d seen them all in person.

“Hey guys,” you wheezed past phlegm. Rei scowled bad-temperedly up at you—ah, she never changed.

“You look like total shit,” she said with no filter whatsoever.

“She means ‘I missed you’,” Chie chimed softly, her dreamy smile never failing to comfort you. “I’d hug you, but you look contagious.”

“Sorry to make you guys come all this way,” you managed, letting them in and shutting the door. Rei waved you off.

“Of course we’d come, idiot. We’re your friends.” She looked around judgmentally at the sad decor and made the face you always wanted to. “Your Ushijima-kun lives… pretty simply for a pro athlete, huh.”

“I think it’s so cute!” Chie gushed, setting down their gift on the kitchen counter. She clasped her hands together in delight. “It looks just like a guy’s place does in shojos.”

“Yeah, but [Name] lives here now, too. Shouldn’t it be a little less…” She waved her hand disgustedly. “Bachelor-y?”

“I’ve been too busy to bother redecorating for him,” you defended, lying down on the couch. The girls sat on either side of the floor, kneeling comfortably. “But how have you two been? Any news on your soulmates?”

“No,” Rei groaned exasperatedly. Her soulmate tattoo was on her thigh, right under the shorts line, so it was hidden by her jeans. You knew the name well, though, having been friends with Rei since your very first year of high school. “Stupid ass Kaito is probably some country bumpkin. Or a Tokyo poser. Or maybe he’s like, kicking it in elementary. What’s the gap between you and Ushijima? 10 years?”

“Six?” Chie answered for you, looking over at you. “He’s 25 right now, I think.”

Rei nodded agitatedly. “What if this Kaito guy is _twelve_ right now? Am I really just supposed to keep waiting?” She sighed and glanced over to Chie, tossing a casual point her way. “Chi’s in the same boat.”

“What was my soulmate’s name again…?”

“You forgot?” you exclaimed, broken out of your hazy stupor. “I know your tattoo ’s on the back of your neck, but I don’t think I could ever forget my soulmate’s name…”

“Rei?” Chie lifted her curly hair out of the way and turned to the other, but Rei huffed and crossed her arms without looking.

“It’s _Kaiji_ ,” she returned, crinkling her petite nose. “I don’t even need to look. You’re so spacey sometimes… you’re booksmart, but absolutely useless anywhere else.”

It wasn’t even mean, though Rei (lovingly dubbed TsundeRei) did have a harsh way of speaking. Chie was a total ditz and would probably die by some stupid mean if she lived on her own, like accidental starvation.

“I just don’t think about it that often,” she said nonchalantly, shrugging. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

You wondered if you should’ve followed that philosophy. Of course, you’d been lucky to have Ushijima Wakatoshi conveniently relocate down to Oita, where you’d been living your whole life. Had you rushed it by approaching him unnaturally like that? Had that caused things to slip out of place, and that was why you weren’t living some happy ever after?

“Oi. [Name]. You’re probably thinking something whiny like, ‘man, I should’ve let fate handle things for me and my soulmate’. Right?” 

“Rei-chan, are _you_ my real soulmate?” you asked, cracking a grin. She rolled her eyes non-maliciously.

“All you do in the groupchat is complain about your soulmate. But don’t worry. Everything happens for a reason.”

Chie nodded furiously in agreement, gripping her hands determinedly. “Even your cold happened for a reason, I bet.”

“Stupid Ushijima, though. He didn’t take time off to take care of you?” Rei scoffed disappointedly.

“He’s busy with the league…”

“You don’t have to defend him,” Rei reminded. “Just because he’s your soulmate doesn’t mean—”

“I _do_ want to defend him!” you insisted emphatically, the realization dawning over you very suddenly. You furrowed your own brow at yourself. “Huh. That’s new.”

“Maybe the fever’s turning your brain to mush after all,” Chie mused. She clapped her hands to her thighs and got to her feet. “Right! Time to make my special ochazuke. You’ll be better in no time.”

Rei paled and scampered after her. “No, I told you we _aren’t_ going to feed your weirdo powders to [Name]—”

It was a lively afternoon, which was a bit draining in your condition, but you were grateful for it. Your ears had clogged up, so as your friends went to the kitchen, you lost track of their conversation. All you could hear was your heartbeat thud in your veins… you could even hear it kick up when you thought of Wakatoshi’s face, stone-faced expression and all.

Crazy, this whole love thing. If you can call it love.

\---

“I’m home,” he called out, around 7 or so PM. You looked away from the screen blearily, not bothering to pause it since it was some random documentary that had just come on. Rei and Chie had left a while ago, needing to get back to their own busy lives.

“Hey.” Struggling to speak past the congestion in your throat and insane pressure in your sinuses, you straightened up, wincing as your muscles ached. “So, I was thinking I should sleep out in the living room tonight.”

“Why?” he asked, stepping into the house. “How do you feel?”

“Just as shitty. But I should quarantine myself from you, right? It’s okay; it’s comfortable for me. Plus, the TV’s here.” You patted the blankets Chie and Rei had brought for you, all bundled up in your sicky burrito. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t get sick easily,” Wakatoshi declared matter-of-factly. “It’s fine. You deserve to be in a bed if you’re unwell, not on a couch.”

“I don’t think you should take chances,” you replied uneasily, watching him step closer to your contagion zone of used tissues and cough drop wrappers. “I mean, what if you catch my cold and have a game to play?”

“I’m not that weak. I would defeat it.”

“You’re telling me that you’re better than a virus?” you asked wryly. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead again. It was as cold as before, but you resisted the urge to jump away this time, leaning into it instead. The coolness was soothing. 

“I haven’t been sick in years. If I get a sore throat, I simply will it away.” He shrugged nonchalantly, pulling away and sitting back on his ankles so he was eye level with you. “It’s always worked so far.”

He’s crazy. No—is he just plain stupid? What a _RIP to viruses that infect humans, but I’m different_ type beat. You tried to hold it in, but there was no use. It hurt to laugh, _so_ fucking badly. Your head felt like it was going to explode, and your chest—already sore from the ravaging coughs—felt like it was going to split open. You almost pissed your pants then and there on the couch, but _god_. For a guy that didn’t ever mean to be funny, he was so goddamn hilarious.

“Are you all right?” he asked concernedly as you rasped, tears leaking out of your face. He passed you the tissue box, holding it out into the air. You pulled one out and blew your nose into it, choking down the rest of your giggles.

“Okay… you win. I’ll go sleep in the bed with you. Jeez, you can’t spend a single night without me?” The teasing was light-hearted and came naturally, for once. You switched off the TV, digging out the remote. Still smiling to yourself, you pulled the blankets around you tighter, fully intending to drag them all with you in the short trek back into the bedroom.

“It’s easier to sleep when you’re around,” he replied earnestly, causing you to pause so you could hear him properly. “I have trouble sleeping on away games because I’m used to you.” 

Without giving you a second to contemplate what he’d said, he pointed to the open washroom door. “Have you showered yet?”

“Uh, no—I’m good. I’ll shower after.”

“If you say so.” He charged off to collect clean clothes, leaving you to stare after. His footsteps thudded away. He’d… gotten used to you? Now, okay. Reading Ushijima Wakatoshi was an art you were not yet proficient in, but him acknowledging your presence had to be equvalent to some sort of Ushi-bel Prize, right?

Guess there’s a silver lining to this cold after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thirst chap. not even sorry.

“Hey, your hair’s getting long.”

You hadn’t noticed at first, but it was a startling difference when you watched him walk through the door. Wakatoshi kept his hair pristinely cut with that iconic, severe side part and clean fade out at the back. He glanced up at his bangs, which were starting to brush his eyebrows, fiddling with them between his fingers.

“My hairdresser took a vacation to Canada. She won’t be back for another month or so.”

“I gotta say, being shaggy isn’t your thing.” You laughed to yourself and turned your attention back down to the garlic cloves you were mincing. It wasn’t that much of a deviation from the norm, granted, but Wakatoshi was Wakatoshi and anything a millimetre off made him look strange. It’d been a couple days since you’d been sick, and with Rei and Chie’s care, you were on a good track to getting better. “Dinner ’ll be ready in a few. I just have to—”

“Why don’t you cut it for me?”

“Huh?” Startled, you put the knife down before you hacked off your fingers. He leant over the counter opposite to you, watching closely as you stammered. “You want me to cut your hair?”

“Yes. It’s getting troublesome. Could you do it now?”

“I—uh, wow. Um. I’ve never cut a guy’s hair before.”

“Please.”

He hardly ever asked for favours, much less drop the ‘p’ word like that. Was it that serious? He looked at you intensely, cocking his head. Your gaze gravitated up to his olive-green hair, which was dark with oil at the roots.

“Are you sure?” you pressed reluctantly. “What if I do a shi—terrible job?”

“I believe in you.”

It was so honest and straightforward that for a second, you were like, _yeah! I can do this. Duh._ But then you remembered every “haircut gone wrong” meme ever and felt all that fragile confidence crumble away to the wind. He noticed the hesitancy on your face and bowed his head.

“It’s getting in the way and bothering me. It’d help a lot.”

He wasn’t very sensitive to most things. He was dense as a rock, really. You doubted he’d know what day it was—or if it even was daytime—without a volleyball schedule to follow. But you supposed having hair in your face _would_ suck during games or practice, and Wakatoshi lived and breathed for it. You sighed heavily.

“You’re sure you don’t want to see another hairdresser?”

“I only liked her, and she’s in Canada.”

“So you’ll trust _me_?” you retorted skeptically.

“I like you,” he replied, plain and simple. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

When he said something like that, how could you say no? He wasn’t very cutesy in stature or nature, but his softened gaze had to be the Ushijima equivalent of puppy-dog eyes. You swallowed and hastily picked up the knife, staring down at the plastic cutting board and making useless cuts just to distract yourself.

“Go shower and I’ll finish prepping. No promises.” You whipped the knife tip at him, gesturing aggressively before turning back to the decimated garlic. “If you hate it, you’re not allowed to complain. Not one word. Got it?!”

“Yes ma’am.”

You snuck up another glance to see if he—the infamously boring Ushiwaka—had slighted you with sarcasm. But he’d already left into the bedroom to hunt down clean clothes. You put down the knife again and ran garlicky fingers through your hair, sighing exasperatedly as you slumped onto the counter. The things this man put you through. 

As promised, you finished prepping for the stir-fry and washed your hands clean, trying to ignore how they seemed to be trembling. You and Wakatoshi had tried to get into the washroom together, but no matter how he stood or awkwardly perched on the toilet, the two of you could not fit comfortably in such a claustrophobic space. Defeated there, you relocated out to the living room, laying towels on the floor as Wakatoshi moved one of the bar chairs towards you.

“Hold this,” you declared, plopping your phone into his hand, YouTube video already queued. “Pause whenever I say to.”

“Okay.” He immediately put it down on the chair. Confused, you were about to tell him off for not doing his one job correctly when he took his shirt off. 

Wakatoshi slept in old shirts. Before and after showering, he walked around in a top. Despite living with him for this long, you had never actually seen his bare body up close and personal like this. Your eyes caught on every ridge of his pectorals, making a desperately hungry pass over his dark nipples. He was absolutely ripped. Shredded as fuck. His arms looked like they could break your neck if he flexed. You could count every delicious crevice of his abdominal muscles. An eight pack? What the fuck? His v lines looked like twin happy valleys, chiselled into marble. The hills really are fuckin’ alive with the sound of music.

And your name. You saw it scrawled right under that collarbone, in a font a little bolder and darker but smaller than his name on your arm. Your heart stopped in your chest and all time went to a standstill… making you realize that you had been silently drooling over him for an embarrassingly long amount of time. 

“Uh, _what_?!” was all you could manage from that thought process.

“It’s annoying to wash a shirt with hair on it,” was his lame explanation. He blinked at you as if nothing was wrong in this situation. Are you teasing me, asshole? Apparently not, as he went right on ahead, picking up your phone and sitting in his seat. He held it up so that you could look over his shoulder. “Can you see?”

“Yeah,” you replied numbly, trying to clear your mind of how utterly sculpted even his deltoids were from behind. You hated him. Wow, you hate him for being _too_ goddamn hot. You swallowed and shook your head, trying to concentrate. Hair cutting. Don’t make your soulmate ugly or need to shave his head bald or something. Right. “Can you press play, please?”

Neither of you owned hair cutting scissors, but he insisted he was fine with you using the kitchen ones. You assured him it was, quote unquote, “ratchet”, but he didn’t care. You snipped them in your dominant hand nervously as the hairdresser on the screen begun. You trimmed carefully, grasping the strands between your fingers. He was a warm person, but now you couldn’t tell if the heat radiating off his scalp was from him or from you. He stayed perfectly still, and it was almost like he wasn’t even breathing. He had a hell of a good mannequin cosplay going for him if volleyball stopped turning out.

“Ah—pause, pause! This bitch moves too fast,” you muttered with frustration. He paused it and played whenever you asked. It probably would’ve taken a professional five minutes to do the work you managed in thirty, but it at least didn’t look horrible, and you were pretty pleased with yourself.

“Front time. Close your eyes.”

He blinked, his stare striking right through you. His irises were endless gold pools captured in discs. Then, he obliged, letting his eyelids fall shut. This close, you could kiss him, and he’d never see it coming. 

But you held yourself back. 

With utmost care you trimmed his bangs, trying to remember what he looked like before. It was a struggle, considering the fact that Wakatoshi only made one facial expression, ever. Better to take less off than more. After another bout of nervous micro-trimming, you were pretty okay with the results. He looked the same as ever, which meant you hadn’t done anything wrong. That’s a win, right? Taking your phone from him, you flipped the camera to selfie mode and handed it to him.

“Is this okay?” you asked anxiously. “Should I do anything else?”

He blinked, brushing clumps of hair off his nose, turning his head side to side. You could see how angular his jaw was from here and how symmetrical his facial structure actually was. Screw the mannequin thing; he could be a _model_. He has the pout for it.

“Yeah, perfect. Thanks.” He looked back up to you and smiled. So much for only one expression. It was so strangely domestic that you awkwardly let the phone hang in the air for too long, causing him to shake it in your face. You snatched it back and clutched it to your chest, feeling your heart rage under the skin.

“Y-you should go brush off. In case you get hair in the bed. And sweep.”

“Right.”

He got up, turning around to trudge back to the washroom. Both of his arms stretched out as he lengthened, curving his back. Already in camera mode, you hastily flipped the camera back around and stole a shot of him from behind. Obviously, this kind of body conditioning was to be expected. He was a Div 1 athlete! He went to the Olympics!

But _damn_. That’s your soulmate?

Unfair, Ushijima-san. So, so unfair.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s coming up on the 9th anniversary of when you’d first met your soulmate, Ushijima Wakatoshi. The league was slowing down in a way that coincided with post-finals season, and the regularity of general practice and conditioning rather than scheduled matches meant he started staying home a lot more often. You had submitted your paper for the end of term, and everything was starting to look like smooth sailing… minus the unpleasant _awkwardness_ that hung in the air.

It wasn’t like either of you could really help it. Things were definitely better than they had been earlier, but you were still hardly friends, much less loving soulmates. You didn’t see anything between you and him like what you saw between Yane and Guen. They had real chemistry. Besides that, they had a touching familiarity with each other that you could never imagine between yourself and Mr. Brick Wall over here. Maybe you were reading too much into it and Ushijima was meant to be your platonic soulmate, not your romantic one. That happened to some people with the tattoos, you heard. But the mere thought of it turned your stomach. Did that mean you had to search out in the unknown for a lover all over again, this time, without any hints or Xs on a map? You didn’t think you could bear it. In an age where people are paired up before birth to be together for infinite lifetimes, you just couldn’t imagine being _lonely_ forever. You already found your other half, and yet… 

You wanted more with Wakatoshi, but silent gaps grew into chasms, and the only thing between the two of you were neutral pleasantries. _‘How was your day’, ‘what do you want for dinner’, ‘it’s going to rain tomorrow’…_ worthless shit like that. It was totally meaningless and the both of you knew it. But there just wasn’t anything to talk about. You didn’t have much in common, but you didn’t even know for sure because you hardly knew anything _about_ him. He wasn’t the type to talk about himself freely, and you didn’t know how to ask. The anxiety kept building and building. You could feel yourself wanting to slip again—wanting to find another house party and drink yourself stupid; smoke yourself sky high. At least then maybe something interesting would happen. But you kept remembering his distaste every time he found you at rock bottom and the bitterness of your tears when you were forced to nurse a hangover alone. No; you’d grown, and you were better than that. You didn’t want to be there anymore. It got to a point where finally, you had to suck it up and put on your big girl pants and take matters into your own hands. 

It took you a solid day to work up the nerve. Every time you thought you were ready to bring something up, your nervousness overtook you and choked you out. You were overthinking every little detail and agonizing over every word choice. It was only after the sun had set that you managed to force yourself to speak. You got the first word out before you could regret it or take it back.

“Hey… Wakatoshi? Let’s play a game.”

He blinked, allowing the sheet between the two of you (it was laundry day) to flutter down and reveal his frame. As he bent over and started tucking the linen under the mattress, he responded easy-goingly.

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

You almost breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. You don’t really know why you were so scared in the first place. He might’ve been the stoically quiet type with a scary face, but he hadn’t ever shown a tendency to shoot others down.

“Something to get to know each other,” you offered, hoping you didn’t sound over-eager. “I’ll ask you a question and you answer, and then you ask me something. And it’ll go back and forth ‘till we get bored. Okay?”

“Sounds simple enough.”

It was, wasn’t it? But it was necessary. You barely knew anything about him, despite living with him for 9 months. Hardcore fans of his probably knew more than you. You could imagine yourself on a cheesy game show, sitting beside some Ushiwaka Stan who frantically buzzed in details about his blood type and shit while you sat there dumbly. Despite having so many questions in mind before, they were gone the second he glanced up to you with honey-gold eyes. Your heart stalled and your mind faltered.

“What’s your favourite colour?” you garbled past your tongue, feeling stupid. You nearly cringed. Way to go for a strong start.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it,” he replied, smoothing crinkles out of his side of the bed. With finality, he decided, “I don’t have one.” 

You frowned. “Come on; you’ve got to have _one_ answer, at least. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. That’s another rule now.”

“Then… white.”

Not even going into the whole _are shades colours?_ debate, you thought it was an interesting answer, but suited him in its plainness. 

“’Cause it represents purity?” you probed thoughtfully. “Or what?”

“No,” he answered, looking surprised. “It’s the easiest colour to wash with bleach.”

You pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. Of course he had some weird, dumbass smartass answer like that. How very Ushijima of him—you shouldn’t have expected anything less. But you rolled your eyes in amusement and moved on to shoving pillows into their casings. 

“Your turn.”

“What’s yours? Favourite colour.”

You told him instantly, having had the answer primed like a reflex ever since those mortifying icebreakers in junior high. He nodded, looking satisfied.

“I thought so.”

“How’d you know?” you asked curiously. Even if it was your favourite colour, you didn’t wear it every day or anything. You don’t remember ever telling him. Besides, Wakatoshi wasn’t exactly the observant type (having walked out of the house wearing his shirt backwards on many occasions). 

“I had a feeling,” he replied vaguely, which just piqued your interest further. He was never anything but straightforward. Still, you didn’t have a valid reason to keep questioning about it, so you just had to flail in your own morbid nosiness about yourself. “Your turn.”

“Favourite food?”

“Hayashi rice. Favourite animal?”

“Favourite song?”

“Favourite season?”

“Favourite movie?”

“Favourite drink?”

“Favourite scent?”

“Favourite…”

It went back and forth for so long that time completely flew past you. Normally these days off on break felt like they dragged by; it was like you were counting each grain of sand in an hourglass, waiting and waiting to go to back to bed so that you wouldn’t have to be awake anymore. You were still trying to argue that no, _apple_ juice is superior to orange juice because it’s sweeter and less harsh before realizing you were lying in bed and facing him. 

The two of you shared a bed almost every night except for when he was off for away trips or you were sleeping over at somebody else’s place. He was around a lot more often now, so the nights you spent alone seemed faraway. He was an easy partner, hardly moving and making practically no noise in his sleep. You were probably the worse off one to share with in this duo, tossing and turning every so often or staying up on your bright laptop too late. You wouldn’t be surprised if this guy slept with his eyes open… he was _that_ kind of sleeper. He was on his back right now, head tilted towards you—you lay on your right side, arms tucked beneath the pillow and your head, legs curled up to angle yourself towards him. The shock pierced you like a rod of lightning. This was how couples lay in bed together, staring at each other adoringly so it was the last thing each person saw before drifting off. 

“I have one for you,” you brought up abruptly, trying to distract yourself from how much you wanted to lean over further. Your mouth felt cotton ball dry. “Where’s your favourite place on Earth?”

He’d travelled a lot, having played in the 2016 Olympics as well as all those games in the Japanese league. From the tidbits you’d pieced together about his past from the questions game, his father worked overseas. You expected something exotic, or even something quaint like ‘home’. But, he surprised you by answering fondly,

“Sendai City Gymnasium. I made a lot of memories with important people there. It’ll always be the most important place to me.”

It was the first time he’d willingly elaborated on an answer without you prompting him first. You had to encourage him to talk more—open up more to you. It felt like tides were turning and walls were crumbling.

“Speaking of important people, I’m stealing your turn. Who’s your favourite person?”

It was a harmless jibe, though you were curious to know. Mom, maybe? Dad? You were betting the latter. He seemed like a daddy’s boy. Or maybe he actually had a celebrity he looked up to… some volleyball god, probably, one you’ve never heard of.

“You.”

Your heart stopped.

“Me? Wh… why?”

“You said to say the first thing that came to mind.” His voice was a low, petulant rumble, and you noticed his eyelids falling. They halved his dull irises. The sleepy, vulnerable look snapped something within you. Your gut sank. Your pulse hammered in your fingertips. There were a million things you wanted to say and ask and do, but then he shut his eyes completely. They fluttered open again after a second, and you had to begrudgingly concede that he was a half thread away from falling asleep. Ushiwaka was the type of guy that had a circadian rhythm of clockwork, and he was out by ten every night. You weren’t going to get any satisfactory answers by forcing him to stay awake.

“Good night, Wakatoshi,” you whispered.

“Night,” he mumbled in return, his eyes immediately closing. He fell asleep just like that. Worried he’d develop a crick in his neck, you reached over with trembling fingers and tilted his head back up into a neutral position. His juniper hair fell against his forehead, looking black in the dark room. You remembered how soft it’d been that day you gave him a bootleg haircut. It seemed unfair that a guy who still believed in 3-in-1 soap had such unbelievably nice, fine hair. Your hand drifted down to his chest, hovering over the cotton. With a courage you wouldn’t ever have if he was awake, you splayed your fingers across it. It rose and fell slowly and evenly, and you felt a steady heartbeat thrum under your touch. It was shockingly slow compared to your own, though you supposed that was to be expected from a pro athlete. Heat built up between your palm and his soft t-shirt.

Withdrawing your touch, you rolled over onto your own back and stared up into the ceiling. You pressed your hand into your own chest to feel your heart rage beneath the prison of its ribcage. This wasn’t doing you any good. What if you _were_ Ushijima’s platonic soulmate, and you were falling in love by accident?

Your fingers curled stiffly, freezing in half-fists. _Love_? Were you there already? When had that happened? When had you teetered over that fence and decided that yeah, I’m in love with Ushijima? Your heart kicked up further. Adrenaline raced like battery acid through your veins. Well, forget you. What about him, whose favourite person was… and yet… but…

Worse off, what if you _were_ meant to fall in love? How much longer could you do this: the dancing around, the constant dizzying array of mixed signals? He was taking years off your life. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” you whispered in accusation, turning to the side to steal a glance. The pain slipped through your lips quietly as you closed your eyes, holding your heart together. “Take responsibility, would you…?”

You didn’t notice his eyelashes twitch.


	10. Chapter 10

You didn’t think Ushijima was going to be back until later tonight, but this was probably the worst possible time for him to come home. This guy has a magnet for bad timing—you just know it.

“[Surname]?”

In haste he dropped his duffel bag with a loud _thump_ and practically tripped over the step into the living room. You raised your head in shock, puffy, tearstained and all.

“Wakatoshi?!” you gasped, congested. Your heart raced in your chest. You dropped the tissue you’d been weeping into and grabbed the seat of the couch, wondering how you were going to get out of this situation.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded forcefully, his hands hovering before you as he squatted in front of the couch. Everybody knows (minus him, apparently) that asking somebody that’s crying _‘are you okay?’_ or something along the lines of that ends up making the person cry harder. You choked back a sob, biting on your fist. The pain didn’t do much to help you. His concerned face swum away in the pool of liquid.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. I’ll go to the bathroom. Don’t wanna… bother…” You voice high pitched and reedy, it was all you could manage before your emotions collapsed in on themselves. The instinct to escape took over. You pushed him aside, fully intent on marching into the toilet and crying there alone before he grabbed your wrist.

“No,” you whimpered, weakly trying to shake him off, as if you could ever win in a physical match against him. You turned your face away so that he couldn’t see it. “It’s okay. Just leave me alone.”

“Is that what you really want?”

The tears came full force again. You’d lost. Gingerly, Ushijima sat you back down, right onto the floor. He turned you towards him and you didn’t even bother resisting. With his hand still around your arm, he pulled you into him so that you could cry into the crook of his neck. It was awkward to be wailing into his chest while kneeling on the floorboards, but finally, you felt the warmth of comfort. You’d never had that from him before—besides when you clung to him as he carried you, shitfaced and half a sneeze away from death via alcohol toxicity. He held you cautiously around the small of your back, allowing you to clutch onto the front of his jacket. For a while, you cried in agony, all the shame and despair bleeding from your body. It wracked you painfully. It took you a long while before you managed to calm down, but the tears stopped running eventually. Everything still hurt, but you seemed to have dried up at the very least.

“Um,” you sniffled after a long silence, your voice small. You let go of his clothes an tucked your tangled hair away behind your ears. “Congratulations on the Tokyo game…”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he replied simply, pulling you back so that he could look at your face. You hastily wiped the snot and tears from your cheeks, bringing his troubled expression into clear view. “What’s upsetting you?” You saw his eyes darken. “Is it a person?”

You’ve never heard him ask such a compassionate question before. Conversations with him were always bland, neutral things like ‘how are you’ and ‘what are your plans’. The last time you remembered talking about things of real interest was that time you and he did the questions game, but even that had been a while ago. This time, he was showing that he really cared about something—he cared about _you_. The tears welled on your lower lash line yet again, but you did your best to blink them away. You dug the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, allowing the comfort of the dark to blanket you for a moment. Then you sniffled and pulled yourself together.

“It’s stupid…”

“I won’t laugh,” he said seriously.

Yeah, he probably wouldn’t laugh even if it _was_ funny. But he was staring at you intently, and you didn’t think you could wriggle your way out of it. Inhaling shakily, you looked away embarrassedly.

“I got a D on my paper that I worked really hard on… so I failed the class. I have to repeat it. Now I’m behind everybody by a whole semester, and…”

“Oh. Is that all?”

His words cut you deeply and you grit your teeth together. How could he possibly begin to understand how important a post-secondary degree was to you when he continued into pro sports right with no intention of continuing school himself? You and he were not the same. Was he writing you off? Thinking your troubles to be worthless or something? But then he continued, his grip relaxing around you. Sounding relieved, he sighed through his nose.

“I was worried it was something more serious. A bad grade isn’t anything to cry about. I failed almost every exam I wrote in high school.”

“Uh… _every_ one?”

“ _Almost_ every one,” he corrected stately. You stared up at him but felt your lips twitch. God, he was... he was something else. Sucking back the rest of the fluids leaking out of your face, you let go of his sweater and sat back onto your feet. Finding yourself unable to meet his gaze, you spoke to his socks.

“I’m sorry… I bet you wanted to come home and relax, not deal with me. I haven’t even gotten the rice started for dinner yet.”

“That’s fine.”

“But… I feel like all I do is cause you trouble.”

“You do,” he replied, deadpan, without a moment’s hesitation. You winced. _What kind of brutal honesty is that?!_ You didn’t even have anything to say to that—

“But putting up with it is a soulmate’s job.” 

He reached out and placed a large hand on top of your head. The weight of it practically knocked you down, forcing you to stare at your knees. He ruffled your hair roughly before pulling his hand back, getting up to his feet. Wordlessly, you watched him, not even bothering to comb your hair back into place.

“I’m going to take a shower. If you don’t mind, I haven’t eaten dinner yet either.”

He walked off to the bathroom, simple as that. The house got quiet until you hear the quiet rush of water running in the pipes. You looked down and traced the letters of his name on your skin… and for the first time today, you smiled to yourself.


	11. Chapter 11

Your non-residential parking permit had expired last semester. You had no idea how to explain to your parents that you needed to renew your pass because you no longer live on campus, and you still haven’t broken the news about your little fuck up to boot, so you can’t surpass your guilt to ask for money. It’d be a lot to dump on them at once, and you just aren’t ready to deal with that shit storm right now. You don’t have enough on your own to drop 35k yen at once, and you’d rather die than ask Wakatoshi for financial assistance. It’s probably chump change for him, but the mere thought of asking him for help mortifies you.

“You’re taking the bus?” he repeated as you walked past him, looking confused as you hunted in the boot room closet for your umbrella. 

“Yeah. You can use the car if you need to.”

It was a big upgrade from before, when you’d hated him borrowing your car without asking. He was a far safer driver than you were, anyways, so the likelihood of him damaging your ride was less than it was when you were behind the wheel. 

“Why not drive?” he asked, stating the obvious. It was pouring freezing rain, and you’d driven yourself to school every day before this, so suddenly deciding that you _loved_ public transit wasn’t going to fool anybody. You bit down a bitter scowl.

“I don’t have a parking pass,” you replied, honestly, though you refrained on the reason why. “So I’m just gonna bus and train.”

“I can drop you off.”

The offer made you freeze, your hand stuck halfway into a shelf. It was a logical thing, of course—if somebody needs a ride, you give them a ride. You’d already thought to ask everybody you knew besides him. Yane and Guen lived on the other side of the city and it’d be too much of a pain to ask them to pick you up. Your ex-roommate Kyou, who you were quite close to, still lived on campus. Rei and Chie went to different schools. But you hadn’t even wanted to ask Wakatoshi, too embarrassed… you never thought he’d bring it up of his own volition.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, peering over at him on the couch. “It wouldn’t be a bother or anything?”

“No. I don’t have a game scheduled today. When does your class end?”

“My last lab finishes around 5:30…”

“I’m not doing anything today. I can pick you up as well.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He stood up. “Are we leaving now?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem.” He held his hands out for the keys. You pressed your lips together and handed them to him reluctantly, dropping them in his giant palm.

“Also, you left your umbrella in the washroom. If that’s what you’re looking for.” He swirled the keys around his finger on its ring, closing them in his fist. Flustered, you stormed off towards it, brushing past him with your schoolbag.

“I was going to look there next!”

Ducking into the dark washroom, you touched your face, and cursed that it was warm. As promised, the umbrella hung innocently on a hook on the back of the door. Fuck. You could feel your heart racing in your ears.

Wakatoshi driving you to and from school. It felt like he was actually your boyfriend or something. Would he lean over the transmission and kiss you before you got out of the car? Hold your hand with one on the wheel?

It was a childish thing to get excited about, but you couldn’t help it. It feels like you’re a little girl with a crush all over again, and it’s kind of nice.

\---

All throughout lecture, you could hardly even focus, the professor’s words going in one ear and coming out the other. Your eyes are glazed over, reading the same slide over and over again without ingesting any information. All you could think about was Wakatoshi.

You had to admit it; there was no getting around it anymore. You were in it. Deep end dive and all. _Love_ —or at least, those hopeless kinds of crushes that ends up with you resting your chin on a palm as you stare out the window at the rain and sigh in yearning. It was inevitable, you’d like to think. After all, he is your soulmate. You’re supposed to like him. But because of his character, it makes you hesitate, and the conflicting forces start a battle in your stomach and give you aches like never before. 

Does he like you back? Will he ever? Or are you just going to sit around, waiting for him to magically develop feelings overnight—feelings he might never have for you? You acknowledge that he might be an aromantic asexual, but that just doesn’t work in your favour, seeing as you’re already this heartbroken over a simple car ride. You want him to love you back. Openly, you want him to look at you and say that he’s into you in that flat voice of his, and then you want to see those smiles he masks away, and you want to run your thumbs over his high cheekbones and feel the corners of his jaw as you pull him down to kiss you—

5:30 could not come any sooner.

You fidgeted in your lab coat absent-mindedly, not paying proper attention to your assignment. It’s kind of strange to think about. What a roller-coaster of events this 10 months have been for you. It’s nearly been half a year, and you’ve been in love, out of love, and now you’re back in love. While you’re spinning wheels on this neurotic-ass joyride, Ushiwaka hasn’t changed a dime, besides budging a little in his privacy. You still remember the way you felt when he told you that you were his favourite person. Well, he may have said that, but besides acknowledging your presence slightly more than others, he doesn’t really do much to prove or show you that you’re his favourite. If this is all he’s got, it’s looking to be pretty dreary down the road.

The thought makes you unbearably sad. You like him in this inexplicit way yourself, but he’s so subtle with it that you’re having trouble even feeling appreciated. Are you just supposed to read between the in between lines for the rest of your life? You can squint so much that you’ve closed your eyes, but it’s not going to change the fact that he’s not an affectionate kind of person. It’s a matter of whether or not you can stand it.

His parents are divorcees, apparently. You haven’t worked up the courage to ask more about it, despite the fact that you want to know more. Very very few people divorce in soulmate society. Your parents are head over heels for each other themselves, just like every other soul-bonded couple you’ve ever met before. Growing up, you always believed that you had a whirlwind romance like theirs to look forwards to. It’s almost unthinkable to hear about a pair of soulmates splitting up. Morbidly, you want to know the reason so badly because you wonder if your own relationship is coasting that way before it’s even taken off. You don’t want to jinx things or jump to the conclusion that you and Ushijima are already destined to fail, but… is it really that hard to show a girl she’s liked around here?

Lab comes to a close an excruciating hour later. You haven’t done any meaningful work but pack up anyways, fully intent on rushing out of there before anybody can stop to talk to you. It’s tough knowing that you’re behind your cohort, and because of a worthless thing called pride, you’re too afraid to tell anybody that you failed when they all seem to have passed. Wakatoshi was nice to have comforted you, but his words provided little pillow space. _Get over it_ was the general vibe. You appreciated that in a way, because it was true… nonetheless, a little fluff of _it’s not the end of the world_ and even a damn _don’t worry about it_ might be nice. But he was the type to look at a failure and move right on without a second’s hesitation; the noble type of warrior to die with his eyes wide open. You’re different. Pain doesn’t feel good, so why sit through it? It’s why you got sucked into that underground _bad girl_ life, underage drinking and screwing and smoking and everything in between. There, at least, you felt _good_ , and the pain subsided a bit. With Ushijima changing ever so slightly, you’d been able to hold off, but now that you’re starting to miss it…

He hadn’t made any moves on you, even though the drive to drop you off had given him ample opportunity. Though you’re disappointed, you can’t say that you’re surprised. Maybe you should heed Guen’s advice and keep pushing it. He’s a dense guy and probably doesn’t even know that there’s cues to pick up on. Still, relationships are two-way streets, and what’s the point of you putting in all the work if you aren’t going to get anything out of it?

In any case, you’ve had enough mental turmoil. You might as well start by talking it out with him. His place is a twenty-minute drive from the university’s campus, which is tolerable, and it also gives you enough time to bring up this kind of mucky shit you’ve been dealing with all day. You won’t get anywhere agonizing over it on your own anymore.

It’s still freezing and drizzly outside. You don’t see any cars idling in the drop-off pick-up area, so he isn’t here yet. It’s only 5:21 according to your phone, so it’s not like he’s late. You sit down at one of the tables in the lobby and pull out your laptop, sighing with resignation. He hasn’t texted or called anything. Mindlessly you scroll through socials and type up half a draft for your research project. You check your phone at 5:34. Nothing. That’s fine; road conditions are shitty, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he rolled up ten or twenty minutes late. People around you hustle in and out of the doors, getting dropped off or picked up. You keep peeking out the glass, seeing headlights in the mist that might be yours—but aren’t. You load an episode of anime and stick your headphones in. Your stomach hurts.

7:03. Now you’re worried that he’s crashed or something. Isn’t it dark and slippery out there? He’s an anal driver, but what if somebody hit _him_ or something? You text, hoping that he’s not replying because he’s driving. Nothing. You finally resort to a call… no reply. It runs straight to voicemail.

Is it stupid of you to be frantically googling about local car accidents? Yes. But you’re pacing now, around the table, scared shitless. Where is he? Did he get mugged or something? That doesn’t happen in Japan, and he’s also a huge scary-looking guy, but what if… what if… 

You wait, ill, for so long that the buses stop running. It’s pitch black outside and you’re the only one in the lobby. A security guard asks you if you’re all right; you lie and say yes. In a way it feels like if you give up and go home, it means that you’re giving up on him. You don’t want to say it, but you can’t give up on this yet. He’s going to come for you.

The what ifs keep building. You run out of things to distract yourself with. Your heart aches and you’re nauseous. You’re in the middle of spitting out the taste of blood from your chewed up bottom lip when the thought hits you:

What if he just _forgot_ about you?

It’s a devastating thought that forces you to sit down. You feel like you’re an elementary kid at school, crying because their mom said they’d pick them up, but she still isn’t here when everybody else has gone home. It’s unbearably _lonely_. 

Numbly, you load for any Shweiden games that are happening today. Wakatoshi said that he wasn’t on the rotation today. If you googled, you wouldn’t be able to see the roster, so you have to find an online stream of it. It buffers painstakingly slowly, as if it can sense your frustration.

_**—vice ace by sub Ushijima Wakatoshi-san, who is replacing Toramatsu-san tonight. Fierce play by the regular opposite hitter. He wasn’t meant to play, but Toramatsu Naoe-san was forced to sub out due to unexpected injury.** _

An eruption of cheers fills your headphones. They bounce around your skull uselessly. You stare at Ushijima’s back as he accepts a low high five from his teammate. A ball bounces to him; he catches it in those huge hands you’d dreamt of holding.

You close your laptop gingerly.

“[Name]?” Yane answers, surprised to hear you call. You’re not the calling type of person, always preferring texts. Addicted to her phone, she’s quick to answer, and she’s the first person you turn to.

“Can you pick me up?” you ask mutely.

“Uh, yeah. I guess. Where from?”

“School. And you’re taking me to whatever fucking house party there is, because I need to get hammered.”

“[Name],” she sighed, immediately disappointed. “After what happened last time, I really don’t think—”

“You don’t get it,” you interjected, your voice unchanging. You don’t feel anything right now. Good. It has to stay that way. “You either take me now, or I suck some guy off for a fake ID and get wasted in fuck-all nowhere.”

“Baby girl,” she replies in shock, her voice dropping with real concern. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ushijima’s quiet, stoic face pops up in your head and you wince. “I just want to drink so much that I can’t fucking see anymore. See you in fifteen; West Gate.”

“Hey—”

You hung up.

\---

“Honey, I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s fucking simple, isn’t it?” You threw your bag onto the couch, storming off into the bedroom to hunt down a slutty outfit and some fake lashes. You shouted, in the hopes that it might drain some of your anger. “That asshole chooses _volleyball_ over me _every fucking time_! Whatever. That’s on him. I’m all I got.”

“Can’t we just like, hang out at my place ‘till you cool off?” Yane fretted. “Aki can pick stuff up for us.”

It was nice of her to care, but you very clearly do not give a fuck. Sitting around ‘chilling’ in down time isn’t what you need—well, maybe it’s not what you need, but it’s certainly what you want.

“Yeah, cool. Good for you and Aki. Me? I’m gonna go fuck around, make out with strangers, and there is _nothing_ you can do to stop me.” You marched past her into the washroom to fix your face. She followed, hovering outside the door.

“Fine. But I’m coming with you. If I don’t like it, you’re coming home with me. And I’m calling Ushi.”

The sound of his name got you to freeze mid-wing. A grimace contorted your smile. You jabbed the eyeliner pen back into its pot, your hands shaky. “Yeah, sure. You do that. I will bet you my fucking life that he won’t pick up.”

Yane frowned and pulled out her phone, nails clacking on the surface. You watched her put it up to her ear. Staring at the mirror as you doused your cheeks in glittery highlighter, you pretended not to care, but listened with baited breath. Your eyes were glued to her face, tight with apprehension as she waited. After five dial tones, she quietly lowered her phone and averted her gaze.

“See?” you spat. Once again, you weren’t any bit surprised, but it crushed you all the same. You shook your head and steeled your jaw. “I’m over him. Fuck destiny and soulmates and red threads or whatever. 

I’m cutting it off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did yall really think there wasn't going to be any more angst from me?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the following chapters depict rape/sexual assault, drug/alcohol abuse, violence/blood/trauma, ptsd, etc. please use reader's discretion & be safe.

“I think you’re overreacting, [Name]-cchi.” Yane wrenched the beer can out of your hands, but you had gotten very good at shooting and shot-gunning when nobody was looking, so it was no use. Your head spun pleasantly, her face distorted as you glared at her blearily. Since you’d abstained from drinking for a while and never ate dinner, the alcohol hit hard, even from a beer. She scowled at you, screaming over the pounding bass. “It wasn’t even his fault if he had to go sub for a teammate!”

“How would you feel if Aki didn’t give you heads?!” you screamed right back, turning away and hunting down the counters for other half-finished drinks you could polish off. Yane followed behind you like a dog, practically breathing down your neck. “The _very_ least you do is fucking text somebody and be like, ‘hey, something came up’. Right!?”

“What if his phone died or something? This seems like a little much for a miscommunication!”

“ _Don’t you fucking get it?!_ ” you howled, whirling around on her. Your voice was raw, vision blurry with tears. “It’s not just today! It’s been _every_ day! It _will_ be every day! I am fed up with him, okay?! I am _done_! Just get off my fucking back!”

“You are my best friend.” She glowered, grabbing onto your wrist. “I’m not going to let you do anything stupid like last time.”

“Yeah? Fucking try me.” You shook her off by pulling away. Quickly, before she could realize what you were up to, you slipped behind somebody and jogged outside the back door while hidden behind the mass of chattering bodies. Her frustrated cry of your name faded away. With a dexterity that surprised fifth drink [Name], you hid out of sight until you felt comfortable enough to re-expose yourself. Yane stepped outside for a bit, looking around, before swearing and running back inside. Kneeling on the patio, you sighed, holding your head in your hands as you did turbulent merry-go-rounds while sitting still.

You already knew you were overreacting. You wouldn’t feel so terrible if you didn’t. Did people think you didn’t _know_ that you were making bad choices? Like this was all fun and games to you? You knew all the risks. You went to those “Don’t drink! Just get high off of life!” assemblies everybody else did. You knew full well how fucking sad you were. As if you didn’t feel the disgust from everybody around you when you were half-dead on the floor, people stepping over you like garbage. _Worthless delinquent. Good for nothing._ As if you didn’t feel the pressure from being an honour roll student, carrying your parents’ dreams on your shoulders. _Goody two shoes. Try hard._ As if you didn’t already _know_ you were spiralling. As if you didn’t already know that you were buying too hard into this soulmate thing and would end up hurting yourself. Just like you always fucking do because you expect too much. Okay? You knew you were a disappointment. You were the one who was the _most_ fucking disappointed in yourself.

But you were also weak… and the self-hatred just wasn’t enough to stop it. It’s a circle. This shit never fucking ends.

You had no idea whose house this was, nor did you really care. Ayane was well connected through her dance, having competed internationally. She was also gifted with overall extroversion combined with stunning looks. She wasn’t the one who had gotten you hooked into the clubbing lifestyle. That was all you. But, she’d been more experienced in it than you had and was often your go-to when you needed to get out. She’d calmed down quite a bit since meeting Aki, but she was still a party girl at heart, rebellious in nature. At least she _had_ her soulmate to fall back on.

The place was overtly nice, but also felt tacky. It was too big to possibly be lived in and was definitely just for show. You didn’t know what the party was for. Probably nothing. It was probably hosted by some rich kid whose parents had flown off for some fancy business trip; fine with you as long as you had access to free booze.

The rain outside had stopped, but it was still cold, and all the water left on the concrete was close to freezing. The damp moisture in the air clung heavily. Drunk as fuck, the numb tingling of your toes and fingers was an almost electric experience. Again, it wasn’t like you thought alcoholism was cool or okay, but _damn_ does it feel good to be shit-faced when everything is crumbling down around you. You ignored the goosebumps raising on your arms and legs and shakily got back to your feet. You shuffled further out, the loud music and flashing lights much more tolerable outdoors. A couple people shivered together outside, little red embers flickering between them.

“Gimme a hit of that,” you demanded, finding somebody squatting alone on the deck with a joint between their fingers. He looked up at you, disgruntled by your forwardness, but his gaze relaxed when he saw your face. 

“Haven’t seen you around,” he replied curiously, passing you the joint after courteously breaking the ash off the end with an experienced flick of his thumb. Numbly, you noted the Tokyo dialect as you sucked down a surprisingly spicy draw. It was expensive tasting and you accidentally coughed, not accustomed to something that was actually high quality. The smoke curled down your numb fingers. 

Well, what a pitiful classic from him—city slicker relocated to the south Country Bumpkin Island; angry at his folks for uprooting him from the high life, he acts out and throws crazy outlandish parties for attention and sympathy because mommy and daddy only care about money… end scene. Boo hoo.

“Just looking for a good time,” you replied hoarsely, passing him back his joint. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. That was strong; one puff and you already felt it dissolving in your blood. He finished it off and tossed the roach off into the expansive lawn. He was an attractive guy with dark wavy hair, light hazel eyes, and a clean-cut jaw. He was dressed pretty casually, though you were sure everything on him was from some brand name you’d probably never heard of. You leant towards him, knowing full well that your eyes were half-lidded, and your tits were falling out of your shirt. “Would your soulmate hate me if we hooked up?”

He snorted and then grinned, seemingly amused. Reaching by his side, he passed you a shot glass of clear liquid. You accepted it, stiff fingers brushing against his. 

“Nah. I don’t believe in that bullshit.”

“Cheers to that.”

You tapped the bottom onto the ground and downed it. You expected bitterness, or the telltale burn of strong alcohol, but the saltiness threw you off. You gagged, setting the shot glass down and coughing a spray of liquid up into your arm. Somewhere in the edges of the part of your brain that was still functioning, you knew that you had just fucked up big time. What’s wrong with a salty drink? Think, [Name], th—

Some date rape drugs taste salty. 

He noticed the alarm in your eyes and grabbed your hands as you tried to reach into your mouth to throw up. You tried to push him off, but already, your arms were heavy, and your eye lids kept drooping shut. Oh god. Oh fuck. No no no no _**no no**_ —!

“You won’t even remember by tomorrow, so no harm, no foul,” he whispered hotly. His slimy tongue drew across the shell of your ear and he ignored you when you recoiled in disgust. “Thanks for saving me time by coming to me. Didn’t even have to look for a cute girl to fuck tonight.” His hands slid up your arms languidly, fingers encircling them. They hovered over your left forearm. “Oh, hold up. Ushi…jima…? Wakatoshi. Sorry man, but I’m borrowing your soulmate. Cheers, eh?”

You opened your mouth to tell him to stop, or anything at all to protect yourself, but nothing came out. Your eyes shut despite you trying your hardest to keep them open. _Ushijima_. The comfort of his arms around you; the way they eased all pain. You should’ve just turned to him. Why had you been so childish? So stupid? You knew better. How could he ever take you back after this? Would you even make it out alive? I’m sorry, Waka, I ne

\---

“What the fuck was that!? You usually hit way better than you did today.”

Kageyama confronted him in the locker rooms heatedly. He wasn’t wrong to do so—they’d lost the game by two sets. It wasn’t like they’d never lost before, but even he had to acknowledge that his performance was poorer than usual. Everybody had already given him an odd or dirty look, but Kageyama was the only one brave (or stupid) enough to tell him off for it.

“I wasn’t supposed to play today,” Ushijima replied irritably, pulling his sweat-drenched jersey off over his neck and flinging it into his bag. It snapped viciously with the speed. He dug around for his shirt agitatedly. “I’m not in top condition.”

“Okay, but Toramatsu broke his wrist, so obviously we needed you to sub. You’re never _not_ in ‘top condition’. What the hell, Ushiwaka?”

“Can I use your phone?” he asked abruptly, ignoring the question entirely. He turned to glare down at his underclassman. Kageyama’s own exasperation got caught in his throat when he met Ushijima’s gaze. It was actually serious.

“What happened?” he asked, begrudgingly changing the subject. He obliged and pulled his phone out from his bag, holding it out.

“Mine died.” Ushijima snatched it and immediately felt his bad mood surge; he had no idea how to use an iPhone. Tapping around blindly, he looked for anything that looked like a phone icon. Hinata Shoyo’s face smiled back at him as he fumbled.

“No, what _happened_?” 

Ushijima’s jaw was stiff. It was late at night; she probably would’ve gone home by now. He’d meant to text her, but he’d been so wrapped up in the frantic emergency sub process that he didn’t even have the time to tell her that he wouldn’t be by later in the day. He should’ve made some time, granted, but he’d screwed up. His thumbs hovered over the white numbers. Shit—he didn’t remember her phone number by heart. The contact was in his phone, which was, aforementioned, as useful as an expensive brick right now.

“Nevermind,” he muttered, forcing the phone back into Kageyama’s hands. He pulled his shirt on and grabbed his bag, hustling out of the room.

“Hey, you never explained yours—!”

Breaking out into a run when he burst out into the parking lot, Ushijima ignored the rain on his head. It had stopped for a while this afternoon but seemed to have come back. His stomach turned coldly. He had a bad feeling. In a world where soulmates are tied together, fated to be—Coincidence has the right to play games with us wretched humans, too, and she isn’t always kind.

\---

He called out her name after unlocking the door, but there was no response from inside the apartment. There were still-wet footprints in the boot room, and he saw a bookbag lying haphazardly on the couch, so she _had_ been here recently. At least she managed to get home; though he wasn’t sure where she could be right now. With a friend, maybe? He plugged his phone in with his cord in the bedroom and waited an excruciating five minutes for the shitty cell to reboot. He fought the urge to throw it against a wall or pace. Everything was fine. She was probably mad at him, but that was fair. Everything was fine. When the screen finally lit up, it seemed to glitch, crowded with missed calls and texts. Guilt pooled in his gut.

He tapped one of many notifications and called her back. She didn’t pick up; actually, when he pulled his ear away, he heard rhythmic buzzing coming from inside the house. Looking around, he followed the sound back out into the living room. It got louder and louder. He unzipped the backpack on the couch and rummaged around—he pulled out her phone and saw his own name shine back up at him. Great—of course. 

Plan B. He didn’t have Natsukawa Ayane’s phone number saved—in fact, he hardly saved people’s numbers. The only few he had were his coach, his parents, and [Name]. But the sheer amount of incoming calls he got from [Name]’s friend allowed him to locate her easily. He dialed hesitantly.

“Ushi?!” a voice exclaimed after half of the first ring. He jumped, the loudness catching him off guard. “Ugh, thank god. I was just about to call you again. _Where the fuck were you_!? I’ve been trying to reach you all fucking night!”

“What happened?” he asked, bewildered to be assaulted by so much concern and anger this early into the call. Distant music muffled her voice and it was obvious she was shouting to be heard. 

His heart sank. 

“I lost [Name]-cchi,” Natsukawa said urgently, sounding close to tears. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Where are you?” he asked harshly, already halfway out the door. He had suspected as much, but that didn’t stop the cold adrenaline from running through his blood. His kidneys felt sharp in his back. _Please, not again._

“Look, I didn’t want her to go out after last time, but she said she’d do some stupider shit if I didn’t... I didn’t mean to… but it’s your fault, you kn—?!”

“Yes, I know!” he snapped. Whirling around in the parking lot, he crammed himself back into the car and ignored the grating wheeze of the engine as he forced it to run. “Where are you?”

“I’ll text the address. Come quick, all right? I’m worried.”

_Me too._

\---

He’d left the car idling on the lawn, not bothering to abide by street parking legislation when his soulmate was apparently missing in action. The sheer amount of people milling about already stressed him out. How was he going to find [Name] in this mess?

“Ushijima!” Natsukawa gasped, pulling on his sleeve all of the sudden as he wandered into a living room full of people grinding on each other. Clouds of fruity-scented vape blocked his vision. He turned to look down at her, finally noticing a recognizable face in the dark. Her skin was ashen, her black hair frizzy; he noticed her phone in one hand, the other tightly clasping his jacket. The expression of worry on her face churned his gut anxiously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken her here, but—”

“Where is she?” he cut off seriously, currently roiling with too many emotions to deal with her right now. Natsukawa swallowed thickly. 

“I can’t _find_ her. I looked everywhere. I don’t know if she left with somebody, or...”

“I’m going to look through the house,” he declared, annoyed. His dark mood seeped through his expression, and Natsukawa recoiled, letting go of him. Of course he blamed her. Should he be sorry for it? Who had taken [Name] here to end up lost in the first place? Who knew full well how [Name] could get and brought her into this environment, anyways? But, understanding the dire situation, Natsukawa didn’t argue and bit down whatever she really wanted to say to him.

“I’ll look again, too. Call me if you see her.”

He searched through the basement, roughly pushing aside couples and limp bodies. Somebody yelled at him for stepping on their foot. Another tried throwing a drink at him—he ducked, revolted by the smell and stickiness as it splattered onto his bare leg. Several people had passed out on the couch. Still, there was no sign of her. It didn’t matter who he asked—they were all useless, anyways, unable to hear him past the bass-heavy music. His head ached. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to hunt down his soulmate at one of these wrecks, but this time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t _like_ every other last time. He checked the main floor, where the soberer people hung around. They were actually competent enough to hold a conversation, but it was still no use. Nobody had seen her. One recommended he check upstairs, though he _‘ought to be careful, as most people be fucking’_. He ground his teeth together and headed up, taking the steps two at a time.

Two boys were flicking through something on a phone, beer cans resting between them as they sat on the floor together. They immediately got up when Ushijima cleared the stairs, ignoring the flimsy tape that was acting as a shoddy barrier.

“Yo,” one said, playing with a black piercing in his lip. He had an ugly tattoo on his neck. “Upstairs is off-limits right now, bro. Use the washroom in the basement or piss outside.”

“Who’s in the room?” Ushijima asked flatly, pointing behind them at the closed door. The rest of the doors were closed, too, but didn’t have guards in front of them. The other guy crossed his arms.

“None of your business.”

“Is [Surname] [Name] in there?” For good measure, he pulled down his collar to show them her name, though he doubted either were capable of reading in their current capacity. From the looks of them he’d be surprised if they were literate at all. “She’s about this tall, has—”

“It’s just our buddy with his girl, all right? We humbly request you give ‘em some privacy. You want a room? Go somewhere else.”

He had a bad feeling that trumped all the other bad feelings he’d had this evening. His chest burnt where the lettering of her name was, so delicate and faint. Ushijima, much taller than either boy, easily reached past them and made to open the door before he had his arm slapped away by the one on the right.

“What the fuck we just say to you?!” he barked indignantly. “Want somebody to walk in on _you_ when you’re getting laid? It’s called respect, dude! Back up!”

“I’m just checking if somebody I’m looking for is in here,” he muttered, unable to hold onto any semblance of politeness anymore. His body trembled with a raw anger he had never felt before. He looked to the other, glaring furiously. “Let me in.”

“Like we _said_ —”

“If you don’t get out of my way, I’m ripping your fucking heads off. I _will_ kill you.”

He had no idea where the language came from, but it sprouted from his gut and spewed out like lava. People did often tell him that he had a scary face. The two finally seemed to understand he wasn’t screwing around and exchanged a glance.

“Let’s bail,” Piercing muttered. “Not worth it.”

Without another word they turned tail and scrambled down the stairs. Ushijima tried opening the door; it was locked, the silver handle only barely wiggling left and right. He stepped back and threw his shoulder into it. The door rattled on its hinges. After a second heave, the wood splintered, and he nearly fell forwards into the room. His shoulder ached sharply with impact. 

The room was fully-lit, blinding him. He had to squint. There, in full show… she lay. Her top had messily been pushed up to her throat, exposing bruised breasts. Her skirt was bunched up at her ankles. Her eyes were closed, and he saw tear stains drag black mascara down her cheeks. A man stood over the bed, but he was staring at her. One arm hung limply, fingertips trailing the ground. He saw his name inscribed on that arm.

The rage ignited from within him.


	13. Chapter 13

“Hey, what the fuck—?”

“Get off of her!” Ushijima roared. Without even thinking he had floored her attacker, slamming his fist into hard bone. It was the skull or some other part of it, hard and bony—it hurt. His knuckles seared with impact. But he hit him, over and over. He kept hitting him. _Fuck. You._ The guy screamed beneath him in pain, squirming, but Ushijima had a hundred plus pounds on him and the absolute wrath of vengeance. The blood on his fist was sticky. They burnt agonizingly. Ushijima’s muscles screamed with an effort he’d never felt in matches before, not even after a fifth set of grueling deuces. He wanted to choke the life out of this wretched bastard. He drew his arm back, realizing his throat was sore from shouting, when—

“ _No_.”

The groan broke him out of his trance and he blinked, suddenly able to see. How much time had passed? The person beneath him was unrecognizable, bloody and unconscious. His head had lolled to the side, eyes already swollen shut and purple. He looked like a horror movie prop. Ushijima put a trembling hand over his nose, waiting—the blood went cool with a shaky exhale. The boy whimpered, blubbering through his lips and stirring. He moved his fingers as if to crawl away. Not dead or dying, then. 

After confirming that, he found himself leaning over her. Quickly he tugged down her tube top and shrugged off the jacket he’d forgotten he was wearing. He wrapped it around her, pulling the rest of her clothes up as he sat her up. She was crying softly, gasping through swollen lips. Her head fell forwards, too heavy to be held up. Carefully he leant her back, her jaw fitting carefully in his palms. Her breathing was abnormally shallow. He tried wiping the mascara-stained trails from her cheek and saw that he left a bright red smear in its place instead.

“Mmgh,” she moaned, her eyelids convulsing.

“Don’t try to talk,” he soothed, voice gentle despite the half-corpse behind him. He cradled her head in his hands, the knuckles stinging painfully as saline coursed over them. “I’m going to take you home. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

“Ushi.” Her fingers twitched around him weakly and new tears flooded over. “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry… please forgive me…”

His heart ached.

\---

“Ushijima! Where the hell are you going?”

He turned irritably, hearing Natsukawa’s voice. With horror, she froze and stared at her friend’s body in her arms.

“Wh—is she okay?!” She ran forwards, nearly tripping in the grass as she scrambled towards him. “What happened?!”

“I think she’s been drugged,” he replied honestly, cradling her protectively to his chest as Natsukawa tried to reach for her face. “I found her with some...” 

His voice trailed off in disgust. Shaking his head, he looked around for a vehicle. He didn’t think he could drive safely in this condition. The blood had dried on his hands, leaving a crust. He could barely feel [Name]’s breaths on his neck and it worried him. Her body was oddly cool in his arms.

“Take us home,” he demanded, rounding back on Natsukawa. “You drove her here, didn’t you?”

“I’m not taking her home,” she replied heatedly, her voice wavering with stress but golden eyes remaining stern with determination. His accusatory tone hadn’t been lost on her and she flared with anger, gripping her hands. “I’m taking us to the hospital. I don’t know what roofies she’s on, but we also need a rape kit done. Who was the guy? We need to call the police.”

He followed her as she stalked across the street to an expensive looking SUV. Its headlights flashed as she pressed buttons on her keys. His head was spinning. He couldn’t get the image of suddenly looking down at a half-dead body out of his head. Thank god [Name] had stopped him when she had.

“I don’t know,” Ushijima replied flatly, seething at the mention of that... person. He placed [Surname] into the back seat, buckling her in gently. Standing, he turned back to Natsukawa, who waited sternly on the curb with arms crossed. “I didn’t exactly get a good look.”

“Blonde? Black hair? Tall? Short? Come on, Ushi. This isn’t a fucking joke.”

“The one who’s got a fucked-up face then,” he spat back. He got into the seat beside [Name], pulling her head into his shoulder soothingly. Her eyelashes fluttered but she stayed quiet, unconscious. Tenderly, he wiped stringy drool from her bottom lip.

“Jesus,” Natsukawa muttered as she climbed into the drivers’. She glared backwards, craning to see. “Did you have her puke yet?”

“Just get to the hospital,” he growled, returning the dirty look. “I’ll take care of her.”

“You clearly suck ass at doing that,” Natsukawa retorted just as angrily. She spun the wheel and raced into the road, burning rubber on the asphalt. He held onto his soulmate tightly so that Natsukawa’s Fast and Furious driving wouldn’t disturb her. She continued ranting, periodically throwing caustic glances into her rearview mirror. “Why do you think she’s spiraling in the first place, Shithead? You. Do you even know her? Or like, give a single shit about her? What kind of fucking soulmate are you?”

He didn’t have a reply. He just held her close.

\---

“Hey, guys.”

“How is she?” Natsukawa asked desperately, scrambling to her feet and crumpling the tissues in her hands. Ushijima followed, blinking off the grogginess that he’d been wrestling with. They’d been tossed aside into a random waiting room when [Name] got wheeled out of the ER to god knows where. He could still see it vividly, tattooed into his brain: people running and shouting, slapping an oxygen mask onto her and wrenching her limp body out of his arms to roughly throw her into a bed. He’d never felt so cold without her familiar warmth before. 

For hours, Natsukawa and him had sat around, waiting in dread. He wasn’t even sure what time it was. He’d washed his hands in the sink, watching the water run crimson red as it swirled down the drain. Somehow, in that eerie black-out session, he’d shredded almost all the skin off his knuckles. Red painted his skin. Natsukawa had asked a passing health care aide for gauze and wordlessly wrapped him up, ignoring his quiet thanks. She spent most of the time crying, no doubt in self-blame—he wasn’t sure what to say to her and had kept his distance. Neither of them exchanged a word.

He clenched his fists, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain and shadowing beneath the white gauze. The nurse in navy scrubs that had told them to stay here sighed and rubbed her forehead, stray hairs falling out of her braid. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

“We’re just flushing her system right now. I’m thinking it was Rohypnol or GHB. Luckily, she didn’t OD, so there’ll be no lasting dangers.”

“Thank god,” Natsukawa gasped in relief, sinking back into her chair. The nurse sat also and looked at him expectantly. Paralyzed, Ushijima couldn’t find it in him to move and kept standing.

“We’re going to keep her on IVs overnight. She hasn’t come to yet, but her vitals are stable. She’s satting high and her resps are good, so I’m not overly worried. There’s not much acute danger for the time being. Also; the rape kit came back negative. There wasn’t any evidence of semen or physical penetration.”

He nearly collapsed with relief and put his hand against the wall to balance himself. Natsukawa begun to cry again, dabbing her tears with yet another balled-up tissue. The nurse nodded sympathetically, face grim, giving them a moment to recollect their composure. 

“Still,” she continued lowly. “The poor girl’s been through serious trauma. There’s no guarantee how she’ll feel when she comes to. I’ve put in an order for a psych consult when she wakes up tomorrow and got in touch with police. An officer will come by when she wakes up. Then she’ll probably get discharged after that. No guarantees though.”

“Can I stay with her?” Ushijima asked abruptly. The nurse blinked, eyes catching on his wrapped hands suspiciously. Then she shook her head.

“Sorry. We don’t let visitors stay overnight. You can give me your contact, though. Somebody will give you a call the second she wakes up if you’d like. What’s your relationship to the patient?”

“Um. Roommate,” he replied unsurely, feeling Natsukawa’s intense gaze on his back.

“ _Friend,_ ” Natsukawa inserted aggressively, standing up and pushing in front of him. The nurse eyed both of them warily.

“Let me put your guys’ numbers onto her chart.” She stood up and walked to the closest computer in the hallway, lowering the table with a robotic _whir_. Her hands hovered over the keyboard. Cautiously, she turned back around to look at the two of them and crossed her arms. Her voice was lowered.

“Okay, look. It’s not exactly protocol for me to butt my nose into things. But your friend’s not in good shape… speaking from experience, she’s not going to be okay for a while. She might be okay physically, but mentally? She needs more help than we as nurses and doctors can give her. No medicine can fix what happened to her. You should get in touch with her parents. And take care of her, please.”

“I will,” Ushijima said, without a second’s beat of hesitation. His resolve finally seemed to be acceptable for Natsukawa, who merely nodded without argument for once. She put her hand on his arm. 

“ _We_ will.”

\---

“I’m staying with you,” Natsukawa declared as they walked out of the hospital together. She crossed her arms and stared up at him, looking unbothered by the height difference. She was even shorter than [Name], he noticed. Her golden eyes were red rimmed. Her nose was rubbed raw from all the crying. “Because your guys’ place is closer. Just until I know she’s okay.”

“Uh... fine.”

“Do you have a fucking problem with that?” she snapped, touchy.

“Not especially.”

“I seriously don’t know how she deals with you,” Natsukawa exploded angrily, sounding like she’d been holding a lot of it in for a very long time. “I love her, y’know? To bits and pieces. And you? You got her fucked up. She wouldn’t be like this if you were just… ugh, a better fucking person!? Everything’s your goddamn fault.” She spat on his shoes. “I hate you.”

“Okay.” He turned away. He saw Natsukawa look taken aback in his peripheral.

“What? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Yes.” He turned to her and watched her shrink back, stepping away. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”

“…whatever.” She sniffled and stormed off towards the car. Ushijima sighed through his nose. Shit. Blaming each other wasn’t going to help [Name] any one bit. He knew better. It wasn’t her fault that she’d lost track of [Name], and it wasn’t even her fault that she’d brought her to the party. The only person at fault was the assaulter. Natsukawa was probably the only one here who blamed herself most for what happened. And yet, he felt most culpable for it, too. 

Was it really even his fault? He didn’t feel like he’d done anything wrong, and yet, he felt so _guilty_. He didn’t often take things this hard. If something happened, it happened, good or bad. Time is linear. You take it and move on. If [Name] was having some sort of life crisis, was he really the one to blame for that? Why not her?

But still, if it’s so straightforward, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why did he have to physically buckle himself into the car to stop himself from going back into that hospital and waiting for [Name] to open her eyes? 

Why did he hate himself so damn much right now?

Natsukawa looked over as she drove back to the Ushijima apartment. His hand rested over his collarbone, expression unreadable as he stared out the window blankly. She had plenty to say, still, but decided to hold her tongue. He was probably the one who knew best. They settled on a mutually unfriendly silence. They each had their own problems to deal with right now.

\---

“You can sleep on the cou—”

“I’m taking the bed.”

He stared at her. She stared back. Without another word she walked off and slammed his own bedroom door shut on him. He sighed, annoyed, but gave it up. Fine. It was too late to start another fight, and the distance would be nice.

He sank down on the couch, not bothering to try lying down on it (again). [Name]’s bookbag still sat here, unzipped from where he’d found her phone earlier. It was still lying on the seat next to him. Gingerly, he picked it up. Would it be wrong…? No; not if he didn’t try to unlock it. He tapped the screen hesitantly and saw a picture of her at what looked to be a graduation. She didn’t look that much different besides a changed hairstyle. On either side beamed two shorter, older looking people. A woman and a man. Parents? Notifications blocked off most of the screen, but they were private. All he could tell was that there were a bunch of calls, texts, and other colourful social media icons he didn’t recognize. The phone jolted in his hands as the lock jiggled in disapproval. The screen powered off and he stared at himself in the black mirror. His face was gaunt and sunken. He’d never felt this tired in a long time. It went beyond physical exhaustion.

He put the phone away and carefully lowered the bag to the floor, zipping it back up as if making things neat would make things normal. The walls were thin, so he heard Natsukawa crying again, muffled, talking on the phone to somebody. Another body-wracking sigh left him as he leant his head back onto the couch back and closed his eyes. What could he have done to have avoided this? Was this really all because he wasn’t able to text her back? That seemed unfair, then. But he didn’t blame her. Far from it; he worried about her. He’d done something wrong and needed to amend it. He needed to protect her better. Be a bigger presence. Ushijima wasn’t exactly the selfless type, preferring to live his own life his own way, but he was quiet, and he was observant. Something had slipped past him and the only way he could figure out how to improve himself was to ask. It wasn’t going to be a fun conversation, but this was one they needed to have, because clearly, she hadn’t felt comfortable enough to bring it up on her own.

He was suddenly woken up by a sharp kick to the ribs. Doubling up and gasping for breath, he realized he was still sitting on the couch. His neck had never been stiffer and his back ached. When had he fallen asleep? The dusty light of a rising sun blinded him, and he had to blink spots out of his eyes.

“Yeah, we’ll be there right away! Thank you. Tell her we’ll be there in twenty.”

“What?” was all he could manage in his sleep-addled state. Natsukawa glared down at him.

“The hospital called.” She shoved her phone into her back pocket. She was wearing something different than last night—he recognized [Name]’s sweater with a nasty jolt. “[Name]-cchi woke up last night and we can go see her now.”

“Oh.” He scrambled to his feet. “Okay—”

“You drive,” she interjected, throwing keys at him. He caught them on instinct alone and fumbled. She was still glaring at him. Wait… was she? She was squinting hard in a way that made it look more like she was having trouble seeing than harbouring animosity.

“Okay…?”

“I took my contacts out,” she huffed, noticing his expression. Her face turned red in the blink of an eye. “I don’t have my glasses here, so I can’t see. God—let’s move, big boy! She’s waiting for us!

The drive was excruciating, and it didn’t lift even when they were heading up in the elevator. He didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Anticipation? Fear? He was feeling them all at once, and it wasn’t very pleasant to say the least. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Natsukawa led the way, asking somebody at the nurse’s station at the entrance of the unit where [Surname] [Name] was. They pointed at a board and said a room number. It was all garbled to him like they were speaking some other language. In all honesty he felt like he was dreaming, and that at any second his alarm would go off and he’d wake up. It’d be a new day, with no soulmates, no worrying… but Natsukawa pulled him along and the dull ache in his hands meant that this was reality.

They poked their heads into a room. There were four beds, two of which in the front were occupied by people already. He saw a third empty bed on the left. The fourth on the right beside the window had a curtain drawn. The bed also looked empty from here. But Natsukawa walked towards it fearlessly. He trailed behind.

“[Name]-cchi!” she cried all of the sudden, loudly enough for him to wince. He passed the curtain and saw her clinging onto [Name], already crying again. “I was so friggin’ _worried_!”

“Yeah… sorry, Yane.”

His heart seized. He’d been thinking about what to say for so long that he’d forgotten about what _she_ might say. Her voice was soft, unusually taciturn. An IV tube snaked from her right hand. The left curled loosely around her friend.

“Do you remember anything?” Natsukawa asked, pulling back frantically.

“Um. No. The last thing I remember is going to that guy’s house… and then I woke up here.”

“Oh my god, seriously? It’s all a blackout?”

“Well. That’s what I told the police.”

“The police came?” Natsukawa repeated, bewildered. He remembered the nurse from last night mentioning it.

“Yeah. I, uh… decided to press charges. Anonymously.” A shadow passed over her face. “That guy’s never going to do what he did to me to anybody else.”

Police. It was good that the criminal was going to jail for his crimes, but then he felt the twin aches hanging by his sides and felt a cold sweat prickle on his back. As if she knew what he was thinking, she continued sombrely.

“They asked me who beat up my attacker since they wanted to charge them for battery. But I… uh…” She met his gaze briefly and looked away guiltily, staring down at the green band on her wrist. “I don’t remember. It’s all fuzzy anyways. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not from that night. I’m really glad for hi—them, though. They saved my life.”

“How do you feel?” Natsukawa asked gently, catching on and changing the subject. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I feel okay now. I was kinda sick in the morning, but I ate, so… yeah.” She perked up. “The nurse said she could discharge me in a few hours.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. Aki told me to send all his love… we were really worried about you.” Natsukawa turned to Ushijima, who was still standing stiffly at the foot of the bed. His cheeks felt cold with pallor and his vision was spinning. He’d never fainted before, but there’s a first for everything. Cheerily, she clapped her hands together. “Uh. Ushi here was a real hero, right?! He was the first person I called. If it wasn’t for him…”

Maybe she felt bad about insulting him endlessly and was trying to mend his and [Name]’s relationship as compensation. He worked his jaw, trying to find something to say now that he was put on the spot. To his surprise [Name] filled the silence herself.

“He protected me,” she muttered, turning her eyes away. “So I protected him. It’s just what people do.”

Something dropped.

“‘It’s just what people do’?” he repeated coldly, finally finding the strength to speak. It struck him like a rod through his body, from the top of his head to his toes. “‘You were protecting me’?”

The two girls stared at him in shock.

“Ushi,” Natsukawa warned dangerously when she recovered her senses. He ignored her.

“You went and got yourself into that situation. You worried not only me, but your friends. Your family. You put your life in danger. Over and over, and now this? You’re old enough to know better, aren’t you?!”

He knew he shouldn’t be yelling in a public room, much less in a hospital full of sick people, but he couldn’t help it. His emotions were tides and they finally broke through the dam he’d spent so much time carefully crafting. He gripped the end of her bed so fiercely he felt scabs split open on his hands. 

“What do you have to say for yourself?! Are you just going to keep doing this and pretend like it’s okay to the rest of us?”

She was crying, so quietly he hadn’t noticed at first. Natsukawa was pushing him, but she wasn’t strong enough to make him budge. He only noticed when she slapped him across the face, her nails smarting sharply when they cut his cheek. 

“That’s enough!” Natsukawa snapped furiously. “Get out!”

“It’s a trivial matter for me to make you cry,” he continued angrily, swatting the girl away as he stared at [Name]. “Is that what you want? Are you just going to sit there and c—”

“ _Ushijima_!”

“It’s okay,” [Name] wept suddenly, swiping tears from her face with her palms. “It’s okay, Ayane. It’s okay.”

“Wh… what?” 

He felt her slacken and step away from him. [Name] sniffled, but then she begun to laugh, snottily and broadly. Was he hallucinating? Natsukawa and him finally arrived at the same page and stared at her, mouths agape in disbelief.

“We can make him leave, [Name]-cchi. You never have to do anything on his behalf. There’s no need to feel bad or anyth—”

“No, it’s okay,” she insisted shakily. She looked up and met his eyes, wide and round and—something snapped in his heart. When he looked into her eyes he felt _love_ ; an insane amount that had just appeared out of nowhere. He’d never felt love like this before. Was it even love? Love. _Love_. It made his heart race and his head spin and his skin burn. It made him want to hold her close and never let go. It made him care about her like she was so precious; oh, God, what the hell is this…?

She looked away to Natsukawa, breaking the spell. He released a breath he’d been holding.

“He’s never yelled before. I’ve never heard him raise his voice.”

“Is that a good thing?” her friend argued back, still confused. 

“He’s never cared about me so openly before.” She sniffled and reached for a tissue on her bedside table. She blew her nose and folded it in her hands, looking down fondly. “It’s kind of… nice. It’s different.”

“Hey—what’s going on here? Is everything okay?”

Somebody in teal scrubs bustled in behind them, looking alarmed. She was a bit late, considering the tension had already wound down and everybody was finished giving them awkward stares. [Name] waved her hands.

“Yeah, everything’s all right. Thanks, Shiori-san. Sorry.”

“Okay… well… try to keep the volume down. Hit the call button if you need me, sweetheart.” The nurse gave him a dirty look and left. His shoulders dropped with relief.

“I really am sorry. To both of you.” She bowed her head.

“Don’t apologize, baby girl,” Natsukawa soothed, stroking her hair. “You’re a victim. I should be saying sorry to you.”

“I’m going to be better, I promise.” Her voice trembled. “I’ll get help and everything. I want to be better now.”

“That’s good. I’ll always be here for you, okay?” Natsukawa then turned to look at him, her smile dropping into a cold glare. A Natsukawa-shaped handprint still stung on his cheek. “Do you have anything to say anything to her?”

“Yane, stop it—”

He raised a hand to stop [Name] from protesting. It was hard to find the words to say, but he forced them out of his mouth anyways.

“I apologize.” He bowed, as deeply as he could. When he raised his head, she was smiling. That _feeling_ sucked him in again, arresting his heart in his chest.

“…I’ll accept your apology if you’ll take mine.” She stuck out her hand. The hospital band hung off of it loosely. Even though they weren’t alone, he felt like they were—the way they’d been alone lying in bed together, almost asleep, but just enough to still feel each other’s presences. The way her name alone lay imprinted on his chest forever, and he knew his was on her without even needing to look. 

He stepped forwards and took her hand. It warmed his own and was so surprisingly small and delicate that he was afraid to close his hand too tight in case he hurt her. It soothed the pain.

They shook on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of people have been saying that they don't like ayane for the way she's acting. or that it's partially her fault MC was attacked. please stop victim blaming her. she's flawed in the way all humans are and you **cannot fucking blame anybody besides the assaulter and the passive onlookers for an assault**.   
> https://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/190620877231/about-some-comments-on-red-thread gives a more detailed breakdown of why i'm so upset over this.


	14. Chapter 14

“You’ve never taken vacation days before. Where you headed, Wakatoshi? Somewhere fun for once?”

“I, uh.” Ushijima fumbled awkwardly, straightening his back. “I’m taking some time off to take care of my soulmate. She’s ill.”

“Oh… I see.” There was a lengthy uncomfortable pause. “Sorry about that. Don’t even worry about it then.” The coach signed his paper with a lack of flourish and grimaced up at him. “Hope she feels better.”

“Thanks.”

It was a weird feeling, walking out of the office. Ushijima felt oddly calm. He’d never really taken time off volleyball before. The only time he would was if he was sick, and those were days rare and far in between. There had never been a day where he didn’t want to play. But, right now, all he could think about was getting home to [Name]. The sport he loved for all his life was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.

Her car had been towed to an impound lot for illegal parking; he got the call that night when they came home from the hospital. By the time things were settled and he had the time and headspace to deal with things, it was already too late to re-claim the vehicle. He definitely felt bad about it since it was his fault and not his car. However, when he told her, she didn’t even seem that bothered. She’d become quite Zen about most things. Facing life threatening situations changes your worldview on what’s important pretty drastically. 

Natsukawa had kidnapped [Name] for the day to take her out and about. They’d been spending a lot of time together as of late. It was fine; she deserved time to heal with her friends. He didn’t even know who to call for her—Natsukawa did. It highlighted the gap between them, he thought… Natsukawa was [Name]’s “person”. Who was he to her? Still, he was grateful for it, if not for the grain of guilt. The distance gave him space to think. He still didn’t know what to say to her. What could he say? What could he do to even begin to help? 

So, he focused on doing his errands instead, because at least those were easy.

The salesperson at the dealership had been pretty shocked when he’d asked to buy a car in cash. Somebody who has that kind of money lying around probably doesn’t trawl Toyota dealerships for whatever functioning vehicles they’ve got in a certain basic colour. They repeatedly tried to sell him sports cars or newer models, hoping to squeeze him dry, but he was adamant. [Name] wasn’t the flashy type, nor was he, so he didn’t bother. He ended up taking home an old RAV4; an SUV that was much easier for him to squeeze into and gave him more peace of mind about safety than that tiny decades old box-car. It was the same colour as that sedan, though, so he hoped she wouldn’t be too upset. The engine hummed as he pushed the start button, much more quietly than the rattles of [Name]’s old car. It was a journey of new chapters. A merging of lives… but every new beginning includes a story of loss.

Natsukawa and him were on better terms now that [Name] was doing well. At least, they both hoped she wasn’t just letting on that she was okay as not to worry them. Taking her friend’s word for it, she did seem to be faring better. He could at least hold a conversation with Natsukwa without being attacked, now. She didn’t seem the type to apologize and never had for the vicious exchanges they’d made that night, but he hadn’t either. On one hand there’s the logic, clean cut and laid out clear. Nobody’s at fault for an assault besides the assaulter. There was nothing he or Natsukawa could’ve done to protect [Name]. But on the other, there’s the viscerally systemic poison of _emotion_. Both of them were trying to find the antidote right now; he wasn’t so sure how he was faring. Not too well. But at least they were trying. It was a step in the right direction, at least, so they came to a truce. The one they both loved was more important than either of them right now.

Natsukawa sent him something over an app she’d forced him to download. He rarely got notifications, but never had to check to know it was her as and most (if not all) was her spam. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen blearily. The yellow one with the ghost. He forgot its name, but at least he knew how to work it now. He opened the picture. It had one of those odd filters, transforming her and [Name] into sparkly dogs. They grinned into the camera. [Name] had a small peace sign up. Seeing his soulmate’s smile was refreshing, however, and he found himself smiling too. 

Apparently, Natsukawa and [Name] were going to have a girl’s night at his place and make dinner together, meaning he didn’t need to pick anything up. [Name] would be staying at his place again after Natsukawa’s soulmate returned from whenever he was coming back from tonight. It’d been a couple of days since [Name] had even stepped foot in his apartment—she had been staying with Natsukawa ever since discharge. That also meant he hadn’t even seen her since the hospital. The anxiety seemed to crescendo, making his heart hammer an erratic tempo into his ribcage. Ushijima hardly got nervous over things, and the cold sweat was prickly and unpleasant to say the least. He pulled into his lot, parked the car, and stood outside of his door. It was embarrassing to be hesitating in front of his own home. Forcing a short, shallow breath, he unlocked and walked into the apartment, immediately greeted with quiet instrumental music and a familiar smell.

“Ah! Ushi!” Natsukawa exclaimed, turning around from her seat in the living room. She waved. “Right on time. We just finished cooking.”

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” [Name] remarked, sitting up from her spot on the couch. Her face flushed, and she looked away. “Um. I hope hayashi rice for dinner is okay…”

His heart jittered unsteadily, catching in his throat, so all he could do was nod. Natsukawa smiled knowingly, glancing between the two of them. He watched her eyes glide from him to her as if she were spectating a fascinating tennis match. 

“‘Kay.” She clapped her hands on her thighs with a loud sigh. “I’m gonna go pick Aki up. Take care, hon.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Yane. Tell him I said hi.”

“‘Course. Come visit us once he’s rested up a bit, ‘kay? He’s still really bad with motion sickness and travelling and stuff.” She kissed [Name] on the forehead and gave her a light hug before getting up. 

“Are you leaving?” he asked cryptically, watching her collect her bag and shrug her fashionable jacket on. “You can stay if you’d like.”

It was a silent plea for help; trios seemed to be easier to talk in than duos. Despite all that time thinking about it, he hadn’t yet come up with what to do or say. Natsukawa seemed to be more knowledgeable about traversing these difficult social situations. He had hoped to lean on her as a crutch.

“Thanks, but I’m picking my soulmate up from the airport. Next time?”

There goes that hope. She extinguished it like candle flame. Natsukawa walked up to Ushijima, pulling the strap of her expensive looking handbag over her slim forearm. He expected her to make a rude comment or push him aside, or even ignore him entirely, but he was totally bamboozled when she raised herself up on tippy-toes and kissed him on his cheek. It left a sticky feeling of cherry scented lip gloss.

“I leave our precious [Name]-cchi in your care, Ushi.” In a quiet whisper meant only for him, she added, “the girl’s head over heels for you. Don’t you dare fuck up again or you’re _dead_.”

He nodded obediently but grimly, understanding. She lowered herself back down and smiled. Even he could tell it was genuine, and the tension vanished. After putting her shoes on and calling out a last goodbye, she left, the door swinging shut behind her. Just him and her now.

“What’d she say to you?” [Name] asked, sounding nervous as she sat up. He shrugged.

“What you would expect, I guess. She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah.” She smiled tenderly. “She is.”

Ushijima crossed the floor and sat beside her on the couch. Things suddenly got a bit stiff as they twiddled their thumbs in silence. He hadn’t been alone with her since before the incident, and he wasn’t sure how she was feeling about living alone with a man after the fact. He didn’t know how to bring it up, either. Did he just come out with it? Did it have to be sugar coated? He just didn’t _know_. It was frustrating to not be an expert on something. He was the type to take things head on, one at a time. If his serves were weak, he’d condition until they got stronger. If you lost a game, you practiced until you got better. If an engine of a car is broken, you take it apart and put it back together. There was something he had to fix here, but he didn’t even know what that was, only having the vague intangible idea that something was wrong. It was an impossible puzzle.

“I remembered your favourite,” she brought up suddenly, seemingly pressured by the stillness. Her eyes darted around the room, unable to stay focused on one spot. “If it still is.”

“Yes,” he replied brusquely, “thanks. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

“Ayane’s a better cook than me, but I tried.” She laughed to herself, her face splitting into a shy grin. “I burnt the garlic though. In case you smelt that.”

“That’s fine; I don’t mind. I’m happy you made dinner for us.”

“You are?” She looked surprised, glancing up shortly.

“Of course I am…”

She blinked and then smiled, expression wry. “Yeah. I always forget you’re hard to read with that face of yours.”

He touched his chin self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“Hm. You’re a funny guy, Wakatoshi.” She flashed a smile but dropped her gaze to her hands. He noticed her playing with her fingers, nail polish chipping in uneven chunks. The lifting edge of tape on her IV bandage was dark with lint, meaning she’d been picking at it. 

He took a deep breath. “There’s something you want to talk about, isn’t there?”

Her hands stopped. She kept her eyes low.

“…yeah.” Her voice was heartbreakingly quiet. “I wanted to wait until after dinner.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured, his own voice softening. “It’s better to be open about things now.”

“Okay.” She looked up at him, her jaw tight. She was wearing a baggy sweater and sweatpants, an outfit that was severely different from the one she’d worn that night. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands sticking out this way and that. Although he didn’t exactly have much expertise on makeup, he could tell she wasn’t wearing any. The damage was starting to show in quiet, insidious ways.

“I guess there’s no easy way to say this. Sorry.” She laughed shakily and reached up to wipe her eyes, which had suddenly grown misty. Unsurely, he reached out and circled her arm where his name was tattooed under the sleeve as gently as he could. She froze. Quickly, he let go, worried that he’d scared her. She lowered her arms slowly and clasped her hands in her lap. She was a runner, a master of escapism—he could tell she was actively hurdling her fear in the attempt to change. The terror radiated off of her. 

“Take your time,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right. Okay. Well.” She looked up to him with those teary eyes he’d learnt to love, diving into them like pools. He felt like he could swim in everything she said. It was all so endlessly deep: swirling, enrapturing, _warm_. She opened her mouth.

“I think we should split up.” 

His heart stopped.


	15. Chapter 15

It almost seemed unfair that when everything was finally coming together, it was suddenly falling apart.

“You what?” he asked, feeling cold but numb simultaneously. [Name] shifted in her seat guiltily, tucking her hands away inside her sleeves as if she wanted to make herself smaller. He noticed her leaning away from him.

“I just… I dunno. I think I jumped into this soulmate thing too fast. Moving in… screwing up school… _everything._ I really… I don’t know anymore. And I definitely need to come clean to my parents. They’re coming up tomorrow.”

“I see.” 

He didn’t see.

“It’s not like I hate you or anything!” She reassured hastily. “I swear, it’s the opposite of that. It’s just…” She sighed, frustrated, looking like she was having a difficult time articulating. “I caused you a lot of trouble. I need to figure out how to help myself before I can let other people help me. Y’know…?” She eyed him warily, wringing her hands together. “Sorry. Do you kind of get where I’m coming from?”

Maybe. He understood the mentality, at least, of wanting the strength of independence. He had never asked people for help before. Finally, he understood how frustrating that must be for everybody else.

“We’ll still be soulmates and hang out and everything!” she continued, rambling now. “But. Being here… I’m no good for you right now.”

He wanted to tell her that _no_ , she was more than enough, that she was the first woman he’d ever been interested enough in to want to deviate from his path, but it felt like he was too late. She’d come to her decision. It must have taken her a lot of bravery in order to bring it up. Who was he to tell her that ‘no, you have to stay here’ when she didn’t want to?

Even though it pained him, this was probably for her own good. Being here with him had hurt her in more ways than one, each seemingly irreparable. His parents had split up, as well—maybe that had been what was painfully best for them, too. 

He’d never understood their divorce. He’d never asked, and he’d never had the desire to. His mother and father had parted ways when he was younger, and so he had grown up as a child of divorce in a divorce-less society. Everybody around him had always had that morbid curiosity, having the same expression of disbelief and pity: _but they’re soulmates, aren’t they?_ He knew they were, too. Obviously. Their names had been on each other clear as day, and yet, the universe wasn’t good enough. Then, when a young, fresh faced girl had marched up to him, displaying his name on her skin so proudly, he just didn’t… _care_. So what if they had their names on each other? It didn’t mean a thing. Sure, they could live together, and eat together, and sleep together. It was just a matter of convenience. It never meant anything. 

Until now. Now, when his feelings had gone from 0 to 100 and he realized just how much he was losing because of how much he had. It’s a general thing to say that you love somebody. Love implies only the good stuff: the soft heart-to-hearts, the heat of lust, the red passion and the warm ardor. Saying _I love you_ forsakes the idea that love is actually brutal, unforgiving, hellish _pain_. Because how can you love somebody and not grieve when they grieve; how can you love somebody and not feel like your world’s ended just because they’ve decided that they don’t need you in theirs?

Maybe he was just cursed to live alone… and he had to be okay with that for her sake.

“Okay,” he replied. He saw tension immediately drain from her shoulders as she slumped forwards in relief. Already, he felt regretful about his compliance, wanting to take it back. The selfishness swirled in his blood like ice shards. But, she looked so glad that it’d be cruel of him to force her to stay with him. He clenched his jaw to make sure he didn’t say anything.

“Then… okay.” She nodded. “I’ll move out. Um. Later, if that’s okay. I need to go apply for res and stuff again, so it might take a while before I actually have a place to stay.”

“Of course. I’ll help any way I can.”

“…thanks, Ushijima.” She sighed, and it looked like years drained off of her face. “Really. Thank you.”

“You can call me—”

“—Wakatoshi, I know. But I think starting over might be good for us… you know?” She put out her hand, the same one she had on that hospital bed. The green hospital band still hung off of it as a reminder. “I’m [Surname] [Name]. 19. Nice to meet you.”

He didn’t want to take it this time. Back in the hospital, accepting her apology had been the right thing to do. But now shaking her hand would be taking her away. But he took it anyways, biting down his grief, because it was for her. _It’s all for you._ The pain. The craving, the yearning, the _hopeless_ spiral. Her hand was warm as always, tiny fingers curling around his own.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi. 25. Nice to meet you.”

_Goodbye, beloved._

She pulled away.

\---

“Kyou-chan!”

[Name] squealed happily, dropping the box and hurdling over it in an impressively athletic feat. A petite brown-haired girl laughed, hugging her tightly. They rocked from side to side, their embrace so tight that it looked like they were having a competition of whose ribs would give out first. Finally, [Name] peeled away and pointed at him excitedly.

“This is Hanai Kyou. She came from Beijing to study music here! Japanese is her second language, but she’s pretty fuckin’ fluent, right? Kyou-chan, this is Ushijima.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Ushijima-san,” she said quietly, bowing respectfully. She had a slight tonal accent and was oddly polite to be chatting with a guy standing in a hallway, but he understood why [Name] was so impressed. He hardly knew a lick of Mandarin.

“I’m so happy we get to room together again,” [Name] gushed. “It’d suck if I had anybody else.”

“I am happy you came back. It’s lonely without you.”

“Ushi’s just helping me carry some stuff in.” She jerked her thumb at him. “Sorry for the mess.”

“It’s no worry. I have to go to rehearsal, but I will see you again later tonight! We _have_ to catch up. Goodbye, Ushi-san.” She bowed again, smiled, and left, lugging a black instrument case with her.

“Anyways. Welcome to my pretty little dorm. Pre-you… can you imagine?” She walked into the open door, pushing the box she’d dropped on the floor with her foot. Obediently, he followed, and set down his own (much larger) box on the bare side of the room. There were two beds on the left and right areas of the room, as well of a set of identical desks in the centre pushed up to the far wall. The left had books and paper neatly strewn about on its surface, as well as lanterns and polaroid pictures strung up for décor. The right was empty, and he assumed that was [Name]’s side. The dorm was reminiscent of Shiratorizawa’s. He hadn’t realized that the first time he begun living alone was when he moved to Oita to join Shweiden Adlers. He’d always lived with his mother, and then with a roommate in junior high and high school… it was only as an adult that he really understood what it was to be alone. While he was lost in sentimental memories, [Name] threw herself onto her bed and sighed contentedly.

“There’s still stuff in the car,” he reminded, looking down at her.

“Yeah, but I’m pooped. Kyou’s on the top floor now? Ugh. I miss having the ground floor.” She raised her head slightly and patted the space on the bed beside her. “C’mon. Take a little break.”

“I’m not tired—”

“Of course you aren’t, but just chill out for a bit.”

Giving in, he sat beside her. Finding it weird to be upright while she was lying down, he slowly lowered himself down beside her. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. In the corner of his eye he saw her roll over to face him.

“Thanks for helping me move on your last day off.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. “I don’t mind.”

“Hm… but you do. See, your mouth droops here when you get mad. You pout.” She poked him right under his lip, startling him. He turned his head to look at her. They lay together, facing each other. Her finger curled up, lying close to his face. She was so close. He could smell her shampoo—or maybe it was perfume; he didn’t know. His head started to spin.

“I didn’t know that,” he said carefully. Blinking felt like it took years under her watchful eyes. “But I’m not mad.”

“Maybe you just don’t know it.” She sat up abruptly, shaking out her hair. He followed, clasping his hands in his laps. He allowed himself to take a deep breath, clearing his nose of her scent. She gave him a look, her brow knitting together in concern. “It’s okay. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” He nodded agreeably. 

“Then it’s all good. We’ll still see each other even if we don’t live together anymore.” She seemed to remember something and blinked, face brightening. “Didn’t you say it was hard to sleep without me, once?”

“I got used to you. It’ll just take some time to adapt again.” This much was true. He’d never suffered from insomnia before, though he did wonder what it’d be like to not sleep next to a warm body again.

“You should get a dog. Name it after me. Then you can always have me with you.” She laughed, and he cracked his own wry smile.

“Are you saying that you’re equivalent to a dog, [Surname] [Name]?”

“What?” Her expression dropped. “What does that mean? Are you selling me short? How dare you!” She punched him in the arm, but her hand bounced off pathetically. Whining, she shook out her fists. “What the fuck! How buff _are_ you!?”

“Do you really want to know? You can find out.”

“Oh, do _not_ touch me. If you hit me like you spike a volleyball I would fucking die.”

“Would you like to find out?”

“No! N—okay, I’ll go out to the car and get the rest of it! Don’t hit me!”

It was fine. It would be okay. Things were okay. She’d said so herself: _It’s okay. We’re still friends, aren’t we?_ And they were. She was his precious friend, and he was her friend, too. So everything was fine, and he needn’t ask for more.

He didn’t remember much from his parent’s divorce. He was young enough to have memories, but it wasn’t the biggest thing on his mind at the time. It hardly even seemed important. Suddenly, the big house that was always full of noise had gotten quiet. The TV wouldn’t run anymore, tuned into the sports network to catch volleyball reruns. The dining room table somehow got twice as big… yet there was always too much food. His mother would say it was to encourage him to eat more so he could grow ‘big and strong’. But even then, he knew it was because she was still in the habit for cooking meals for three. 

When he got home, and the house was so unbearably grey… he just wasn’t so sure anymore. There were no hoodies left in piles around the house. Nothing forgotten on the couch. No more long hairs shed onto the bathroom tile. Suddenly, he only had one cup again. One side of the bed wasn’t messy anymore. The drawers were empty, only a dust bunny or two left behind. When he came home, now, the lights were all off, and there was nobody to chime _welcome home_.

It’s lonely in forever and always.


	16. Chapter 16

**YOU:** How is she?  
**NATSUKAWA:** p good. her parents came and i took her to therapy yesterday  
**NATSUKAWA:** y dont u just ask her urself??  
**YOU:** I’m not sure how to talk to her.  
**NATSUKAWA:** LMFAOOOOOOOOO  
**NATSUKAWA:** ur hopeless. get ur shit together man :|  
**YOU:** ?  
**NATSUKAWA:** grow a pair n do it urself

Easier said than done. He wasn’t scared of most things, but a simple ‘how are you’ text to his soulmate? Mortifying to even think about.

It had been like driving into a fog. There was nothing to see at first; but then your vision blurs, and it gets worse and worse. When you look behind you in the rear-view mirror, you see that whatever you left behind is so crystal clear—and now, looking forwards, everything’s a dark smear. Fog doesn’t quite touch like snow, but it wreathes, heavy and dense. You never saw it coming until you can’t see at all. 

That’s love. 

It was not uncommon to be attracted to be people who aren’t your soulmates. In older history, soulmate marks hadn’t existed. People just wandered around, falling in love, getting their hearts broken and then falling in love and getting their hearts broken until hopefully, they found somebody that was probably good enough. It was only through some complicated gene mutation bio-science mumbo-jumbo that had flown over his head that humans manifested the ability to locate this phenomenon called ‘soulmates’. It wasn’t guaranteed happiness (see Appendix A: his own parents), but it was better than nothing. Apparently.

Highschool was often dubbed the most desperate time for those who hadn’t yet found their soulmates. People settled and got together just for the sake of having somebody. It’s a globalized world—who _knows_ where your soulmate is? They could be your neighbour or thousands of kilometres away. They could be decades older or younger than you. They could speak an entirely different language. They could already be dead. In a way, not knowing at all might be better peace, because you can still fall in love with a person that isn’t your soulmate. Some people did.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t tell that people were attractive. He was capable of looking at somebody and seeing that they were handsome or beautiful or both. He admired people’s traits and respected them. But he’d never quote unquote “liked” anybody in the way he was expected to. Some old high school classmates had teased him, saying that he was unbreakably faithful to his soulmate. It wasn’t that. It just seemed that nobody was interesting enough for him to care.

Until [Surname] [Name], the girl printed under his clavicle, had crash dived into his life.

He had been alone for a long time. Though he’d always been surrounded by people, he had never ended up dating or even having the desire to. He was content in solitude and never found the urge to reach out or expand. He was fine being by himself. Despite this, strange, respectable people had always been moved by him. Good people were drawn to him. Looking back, he’d never actually been alone.

[Name] hadn’t had a choice to choose him or not like everybody else had. They were forced together by this ugly soulmate idea. He would never have met her if not for it. She would never have met him. She never would’ve fallen in love with this idea of him that he couldn’t hope to live up to. And in that way, maybe she could be happier.

But what about him?

Heartbroken, lovesick—whatever affliction you want to call it, he had. These visceral, undulating chest pains were doing him in. He didn’t know who to turn to for it. It wasn’t like his doctor or physio or chiro could poke and prod and make it go away. He’d never been in a situation like this before where he needed somebody to lean on. There was only one person for it.

“Wakatoshi-kun! What’s up? You haven’t called in _forever_.”

“Hey, Tendou.”

They’d kept in touch ever since graduation. He supposed he had to be grateful for Tendou’s insistence. Ushijima wasn’t really acquainted with the idea that you should check up on your friends regularly, so without Tendou’s constant presence, he probably would’ve drifted away. 

“Eh? What’s with the long face?” Tendou gasped dramatically, clapping his hands together. The sound came a millisecond after his picture on the screen did. “Don’t tell me. You… hit your head on a doorway again!”

“I did not,” he replied earnestly. “Though I did hit my head yesterday.”

“Damn. I was off by a day. Anyways, really. What’s up?”

“What do you do…” He took a deep breath and sighed, rubbing his forehead, where a headache was being nursed behind his eyes. “When you keep thinking about a girl that you shouldn’t be thinking about?”

“Oh?” A short, thoughtful silence. “Wow. My Wakatoshi-kun’s all grown up now, is he?” 

Tendou, who had found his soulmate through volleyball during his course at Shiratorizawa, had been nothing less than pushy to Ushijima to get a move on for finding his own soulmate. He ignored everything Ushijima said about not caring about his soulmate. The redhead was odd and erratic, and he was also a hopeless romantic. He really believed in the soulmate bonds. Still, Tendou was his best friend. There were few other people he trusted so openly. There was Reon, but he was the type to judge, even if he did his best not to. Semi wasn’t quite mature—more the type of person to talk to when you were looking for something casual. And Kageyama was too close. He would never live it down if he knew Ushijima was having emotional problems right now. Tendou’d seen it all, basically, and was the only one he felt comfortable enough to talk to.

“Tell me the whole story, Mister Man. Top to bottom.”

He did. He told him how they’d met, and how she’d moved in. How she was young and prone to alcoholism and partying, always needing him to swoop in and save her like it was fine for her to do these bad things since he was going to be there anyways. How he hated having to do that for somebody. How his independence had been shattered. Then, how they’d grown together, slowly but quietly. How she’d gotten into that situation. His voice trembled when he talked about beating that boy within an inch of his life with his bare hands. Finally, how she left to heal, and he was suddenly broken in the absence.

“My guy,” Tendou sighed, leaning back. He was a good listener and hadn’t interrupted. “You’ve got quite the story. Sounds like a fanfiction, almost.”

“What do I do?” he questioned, almost desperately. “I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

“Yeah, no. You can’t, can you?”

“…which is it?”

“Here’s the way I see it.” He yawned, stretching. It was apparently nighttime where Tendou was. “You miss your soulmate, but you think you can’t be with her ‘cause it’ll mess her up or something. Like before? Okay. So even though you’re so broken up about it you ring up your ol pal, me, to give you advice, you can’t even think up that the simplest thing to do is ask your soulmate if she wants you around.”

“How could I possibly do that?” Ushijima argued, annoyed. “What she wants isn’t always best for her.”

“I know. I was listening. But like…” He waved vaguely, looking frustrated for being unable to articulate. “Are you just going to keep this up forever?”

“I can’t keep going like this,” Ushijima admitted, his shoulders slumping. Tendou nodded wisely.

“Look, I’m just saying. You wanted my advice, so listen to it. You don’t know what’s best for somebody else. They get to decide that. And you’re a big boy, aren’t you? Pull out if it’s going wrong. Or fix the problem before it gets that bad in the first place. You’re capable of that, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured honestly. Tendou sighed. It rushed through the speakers like static. Then he smiled, wryly.

“I know it’s tough having all these emotions, huh? Must be different for you. But that’s life. They aren’t going away. You’re the type to face your problems head on, so what’s any different about this?”

Everything was different. It was one thing to face off a strong opponent, and another to face off yourself. Your own demons can’t be beaten by a little elbow grease and good fortune. Nothing had given him such a strong sense of dread and doom before this.

“D’you love her?”

The question caught him off guard, and instinctively, he replied, “yes.” He closed his mouth, not meaning to actually speak. Tendou beamed. 

“Then it’ll all work out. Trust me. Love does crazy things. Anyways, I’m going to bed now. Night, Wakatoshi! Take care of ya’self, won’t you?”

“I will. Goodnight, Tendou. And thanks.”

He hung up with a smile. Ushijima’s own easygoing expression faltered and grew heavy. Face his problems head on…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope everybody has noticed that wakatoshi is pulling a [name] and running from his problems .. ah, mirror motifs.


	17. Chapter 17

The doors slid open, bringing in a rush of cold air. He looked up, seeing [Name] rush into the ER, out of breath and splotchy in the face. She hugged a tote bag to her hip, scanning the room frantically. Her eyes caught on him lying pathetically in his bed. He watched her face light up with recognition, and she quickly hurried over. His heart fluttered. If he was hooked up to one of those beeping heart rate monitor things, they’d think he was dying.

“[Name],” he said as she sidled up to the bedside. “Sorry for making you come all this way.”

“Don’t apologize,” she wheezed. “Holy shit. You broke your fucking ankle?”

“It’s a small break,” he replied simply, as if the huge plastic boot attached to his foot wasn’t a big deal. “The x-ray showed that it’s a hairline fracture, so it’ll heal pretty quick. Apparently.”

“Did you get it during a game?! You didn’t tell me anything over the phone.” Her hands nervously hovered over his leg, still propped up on the bed. The emergency room was bustling and there was little privacy besides the flimsy blue curtain; chatter and electronic beeps deafened the space between them. He could tell that the nurses were giving him dirty looks, wanting him to clear out.

“Yes,” he admitted sheepishly. “I landed on an opponent’s foot and it gave out.”

“Oh my god. Does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

It hadn’t hurt so much the first few minutes, shock and adrenaline numbing everything. But on the ambulance ride up to the hospital, the pain really started kicking in. They’d given him some painkillers, though that didn’t do very much, and the sharp stab was enveloped around a dull ache that worsened every time he thought about his new injury. Nothing could’ve prevented this accident, which was even more frustrating. What really hurt most was the fact that he was suddenly out of commission when he needed a distraction most. 

[Name] had been his ‘person’. He’d forgotten when he’d listed her as an emergency contact. Since his mother was back in Sendai and a valid emergency contact was required, [Name] had been his most reliable option. He hadn’t wanted to bother her. But seeing as he wasn’t in any shape to take the train home, he needed a ride. It’d been embarrassing to call, and he was pretty sure she’d just bailed on a class for him. Still, it was nice to see her. 

He blinked. See her? Wait a second.

“You look different,” he realized out loud, sounding stupid. New bangs fell over her forehead in delicate strands. She touched her now-bleached hair self-consciously. His eyes followed the movement and saw her left ear to be decorated with an array of new piercings he hadn’t remembered. There was a slit in her eyebrow. When had all of this happened? She barely looked like the same girl he remembered in his head.

“Yeah, uh... about that. I guess I had to find new ways to deal with mental breakdowns. Online shopping and cutting your own hair does wonders.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed. He straightened in his seat and winced when the movement shifted his ankle, bringing about a jolt that shot up his leg like lightning.

“Oh yeah—I’m good. That’s an exaggeration, sorry. I’m just like… pouring all my impulsive decision making into harmless things. My therapist said good change can start with your appearance… why? Do I look that bad?” Shyly, she played with a sparkly diamond stud in her ear. He looked her over again more carefully. Although she’d changed some things up, her round face was still the same, and her eyes especially gave him the same comfort they always had.

“You look fine.” It was an understatement, but he wasn’t sure how much he could say. 

“Are you allowed to go home yet?” she asked, swiping her hand over her head back to flatten fly-aways. She looked around. “Is there anybody we have to talk to?”

“No. I was just waiting for you. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course I’d come!” she sighed exasperatedly. “It’s the least I could do for you after all you’ve done for me. Do you have anybody to take care of you at home?”

He grabbed his crutches, sliding off the bed. “No, I don’t. I’ll be fine, though.”

“I’ll come over and help out,” she said determinedly. Hastily, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken, she added, “if that’s okay with you?”

“Don’t you have class? You’re busy.”

“I have enough time to take care of you,” she insisted, putting a hand over his back as he hobbled along. The touch was so gentle through his shirt he wondered if he was just hallucinating it. “Jesus. I’ve never actually seen you in bad shape before…”

“It’s been a while since I broke anything,” he replied sombrely. He looked down at the grey boot hugging his right foot resentfully. “The season’s nearly over, too.”

“You’ve got to heal, first. Volleyball will be waiting for you.”

He looked at her curiously. She seemed to sound distracted, her eyes facing forwards as they waited for the elevator. Imperceptibly, she nodded to herself.

“I know you love it, but it’s not like you’ll never play again. You’ve just got to rest for a bit. There’s nothing wrong with taking a break for yourself… it’ll still be there when you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “I understand.”

The elevator door dinged pleasantly.

\---

After dropping him off, she’d forced him to take his meds (if over the counter ibuprofen could be considered a medicine, really) before doing a quick run to the store for groceries. Now back, she set out to make dinner. He sat in the living room with his leg propped up on pillows, tensored with bags of ice, watching her cut onions and dump them into a pot. The sound of knife cuts on the board and sizzling butter was calming. It reminded him of his childhood home, spending his time drawing on the open veranda as his grandmother cooked lunch.

“How are things?” he asked, stiffly, feeling like he should say something to break up the silence. She glanced up over the kitchen counter and smiled.

“Good, actually. School sucks ass. But I mean… that’s how it always is. It’s going okay.” She waved the knife. “What about you? Besides the whole broken ankle thing.”

“Fine,” he lied, as if he hadn’t spent these last few weeks in constant emotional torment.

“Hm. I can’t remember if I ever thanked you for buying me a car. But thanks, Ushi. It’s never broken down, which is a huge change for me. Life changing to not have to boost that fucker. Also, I don’t scrape the front on curbs anymore! Even though I’m a shitty parker, still.” She clapped her hands together in thanks and bowed her head. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem. It was my fault your old car got towed, anyways.”

That night. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, but the cold shock shot down his spine when he realized it. [Name] didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she was a good actress. Instead, she put the lid on the pot and crossed over the room to sit next to him on the couch.

“Do you want to watch anything?” she asked, collapsing into her seat heavily.

“Uh. Whatever’s fine.” He was still reeling over his mistake and looked away.

“I’m back in my Naruto phase. I know that’s childish of me, but whatever.” She pressed buttons on his remote, switching the TV on with a homely familiarity. He shot her a side glance. Apparently, it wasn’t quite as discreet as he thought it was, and she looked back at him.

“What?” she asked. Swallowing thickly, he had a split-second decision to make—ignore it and pretend it never happened or bring it up and possibly make everything worse.

“Are you really okay?” he asked slowly. _Face your problems head on._

“Oh. You’re thinking about that night, aren’t you?” Her face settled calmly. So she _had_ noticed.

“Wakatoshi… there was nothing you could’ve done. You saved me. That’s all that matters.” Gently, she moved her hand and placed it on his thigh. Immediately it felt like his ankle had healed from the tingles that shot down his leg from the touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said anyways, unable to think of what else to say. 

“Why’re you sorry, you big goof?” She smiled, that crooked half-smile she did whenever she tried to hide it but couldn’t. She slapped his leg lightly. Maybe he was apologetic for not being able to pick her up from school that night. Apologetic for being cold from the start. Apologetic for everything in between. Apologetic for still being in lo—

“Oh, shit!” She swore, springing up to her feet before he could say anything. “I have to add the mushrooms!”

She raced back into the kitchenette. He exhaled sharply when she left, heart palpitations rattling in his chest.

\---

“’Kay. I’m gonna go back to my dorm. Text or call if you need anything, okay? At any time.”

It was late now, deep into the night. He’d lost track of time. They’d eaten hayashi rice for dinner (she hadn’t burnt anything this time, to her pleasure), watched anime, and otherwise spent a quietly peaceful evening together. Although he would’ve liked for her to spend the night, she apparently expected to return home to her dorm, and he didn’t want to upset the mood by bringing up the suggestion of staying. 

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.” She glowered menacingly, though it wasn’t so scary from her, so much smaller than him. “Don’t hesitate, or else I’ll get _really_ mad at you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She smiled. For a moment it looked like her head was dipping towards his, and his breath hitched in his throat. But then he realized she was just sitting up. Patting his thigh with her hand, he froze until she got to her feet and shrugged her coat back on.

“See you later, ‘Toshi.”

“What? Oh. Yeah, see you.” The nickname caught him off guard, but he accepted it without saying anything. She nodded and left, the door swinging shut behind her. She brought the warmth with her, and the quiet re-settled like dust. 

The memory of being loved… sunny summer days on the veranda. It was warm.


	18. Chapter 18

Life, for you, returned to normal. 

Aki proposed to Ayane, having convocated after finishing his Bachelor of Chemical Engineering. Of course the proposal was coming in due time, but Aki had kept ‘when’ a secret. He’d asked you for your help in planning an extravagant surprise. It involved hiring extras and choreographing and ordering in more than a hundred red roses… well, only the best for our high maintenance Yane-cchi. Seeing the smile on her face as she wept in joy and nodded ‘yes’ filled your heart. When he slipped the ring on her finger, the diamond sparkling daintily, you kinda wished Ushijima was there to see it too.

(Though, Ayane being Ayane, had already known about the whole thing and planted her secret camera so she could upload the footage to the web. She’s going viral on YouTube or something right now.)

Your parents had rightfully wanted to take you home, but you insisted on staying here for your studies. School was the only thing on your mind right now. Yeah, there was a lot of other dark shit, but without advancing the degree that you were working so hard on, you’d feel like even more of a failure. In the end they had conceded, though now, you were due home every week. The commute was long and almost annoying to make so often, but family is family. Nobody else in the world could replace your mother and father.

Sometimes you’d wake up sobbing, clawing at the air to fight the darkness off. It wasn’t like you were actively thinking about it anymore, but you… you were still being attacked by it. It wasn’t even just him. Your friends and professional counsellors were great supports, but at night, you’re just… _alone_. You’re alone with nobody but yourself, and in the quiet, staring up at a dark ceiling, you end up _thinking_. 

You hated yourself for being so stupid. If you hadn’t done this. If you hadn’t done that. If this hadn’t happened and you hadn’t said this… it was a torturous circle. For the weeks right after it was all you could think about. Even showers were exhausting. No appetite. All you wanted to do was stay in bed—if not for Yane dragging you out of it, you probably would’ve rotted there. PTSD, clinical depression—so fucking what? Call it anything you like. Talking about your feelings wasn’t going to do jack shit. Popping pills wouldn’t erase what had happened to you. Damn, wouldn’t a drink or a smoke be good right now…

But you had made a promise to your soulmate.

Breaking the cycle took a lot of effort, and often, you were sucked back in. But blaming yourself is no longer productive, and you’re a better person than that. Each day gave you new confidence. New hope. New strength. It’ll take a lot more than this to bring you down. You’ll do it for him, the strongest guy you know—and most importantly, you’ll do it for yourself. Healing isn’t a one-way journey. Two steps forwards, one step back… hey, at least you’re moving. Victory is glorious even in the little things. You could only hope that one day you were good enough for him. 

You were in the middle of cramming for your midterm at something like midnight when there was a sudden knocking on your door. You jumped in your chair, nearly toppling out of it. You weren’t wearing headphones for once, so the abrupt knocks really freaked you the fuck out. You blew out a sharp sigh in relief. Kyou had gone to bed early, apparently having an important recital tomorrow. You could see her tucked into her blankets. You weren’t expecting any visitors, so you chose to ignore it. It was probably some drunkie trying to find their dorm. But then the knocking persisted. Afraid that it’d wake Kyou up, and being thoroughly annoyed yourself, you hopped to your feet and threw open the door without looking through the peephole.

“Wrong door!” you hissed, scowling through the crack.

“[Name].”

_Ushijima_? You opened the door a bit wider and—yeah, there he was. He stood in front of you, balancing precariously between two crutches. He was wearing a shirt and sweats, having one muddy runner on. His hair was flat and stuck to his face, black with rainwater. It’d been storming all day—even here, on the third floor, you could hear rain drops thundering against the side of the building. Your eyes widened, and you hastily stepped into the hall. Shutting the door behind you, you tightly gripped the handle behind your back.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” you admonished. “How’d you get here? Why didn’t you call? Are you okay?”

“Not enough time,” he huffed, the words uncharacteristically fast. His chest was heaving as he gasped for breath. Had he fucking run here or something on his janky broken foot? Seriously, he looked down at you. “I have to tell you something.”

“Your goddamn ankle!” you chided exasperatedly. “Are you sure you’re okay? God, come inside and dry off—”

“I can’t live without you anymore.” 

You froze. 

_I can’t live without you anymore. I can’t live without you anymore. I can’t live without you anymore._

Gaining momentum, he stared at you with hard amber eyes that paralyzed you into place. “I didn’t get it before, but I do now. Spending all this time apart, when you came back… I _get it_. We’re soulmates. I need you. I let you go because I thought that it’d be better that way, but every day, I think about you. And miss you. I’ve never felt this before. 

[Name]… come back home.”

“Wh… what?” Your head was full of smoke, swirly and hazy. This was the most he’d talked in like, all your time of knowing him. Your brain was blowing a fuse and somehow you didn’t understand a single word he said. “ _What_?”

“I’ve been _thinking_ about it,” he insisted, leaning forwards aggressively. “Nobody has ever hurt me the way you have. Made me as happy as you have.” He heaved for breath, talking faster than his tongue could move. “I could never understand you. I don’t usually like people like that, but I want to be with you. I never want to let you go again. I still don’t understand it, but I don’t care. _Please_. If I’m enough for you, come back home.”

“Are you serious?” you breathed, almost upset that he was dumping this on you right before midterm season. As if a test was the first thing on your mind. The hallway lights were fluorescent and blindingly bright, not at all appropriate for the dramatic mood. You stared back at him. “You’re… are you saying that…”

“Can I kiss you?”

“ _What_?!”

This was moving a little too fast all of the sudden. Just two minutes ago you were memorizing the definition of long-ass vocabulary words from your shitty flashcards. Now your soulmate, one whom you’d just accepted that you might be estranged from forever, was declaring his undying love for you. The last time you’d seen him, which was last night, you’d just made him some dinner and went back home. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. What could’ve prompted this? Was the chicken that good?! Your mind was racing hopelessly.

Ushijima dropped his crutches with twin Earth-shattering thuds and jumped on one foot, hobbling closer to you. His hands dropped and cradled your face, jerking your face up to his. Flinching, the cold of the water and his fingers gave you an unpleasant shiver. You smelt petrichor on him.

“Can I kiss you?” he repeated, his voice impossibly deep. You didn’t smell any alcohol on him, and his pupils were a normal size—he was cognizant and aware. You swallowed. Lost for words, you allowed your body to take over, and so… you nodded.

It was obvious that he’d never kissed anybody before. Smashing his lips to yours, he was still, a flutter of breath from his nose warming your cupid’s bow. Your brain was still lagging, two whole minutes behind. Buffering, buffering… _you were kissing Ushijima Wakatoshi_. Him: an Olympian, a pro-athlete, a 10/10 man, your _soulmate_ —was kissing you, average old [Name], in a dusty dorm hallway. Two elements finally drawn together. Endothermic formation. Then, pure sodium dropped into water—you remembered it from high school chemistry class. 

_Boom._

Your hands twitched at your sides and rose, sliding up his cold back. Your fingers wound in his waxy hair, ignoring the wet ends. You coaxed his lips open, showing him that he had to move them. He was still stiff and unsure, but he tasted sweet. You’d had worse kisses before. You kissed him gently for a while before yanking him further down, closer to you, so that you could swipe your tongue across his lip. Alarmed, he jumped back. He gawked down at you, a redness slashed high across his face. It was such an uncharacteristically flushed look that you wanted to kiss him all over again. Resisting the urge, you stepped back and gestured behind you dazedly. 

“I’ll. Um. Get some clothes. And my keys?”

“Yes,” he replied numbly, blinking as if he was still trying to clear his head. Your toe caught on something (you hadn’t put any shoes on, and the pain of stubbing your toe shot up your spine) and you realized you were about to trip over his crutches. He was still balancing on one foot like a lawn flamingo. You squatted and awkwardly scooped them up, handing them over to him. With the same silence he took them back from you.

“Be right back,” you said, putting your hand back onto the handle. “Um. Wait out here?”

“Okay.”

You darted back into your room. Closing the door behind you, you sank to your hands and knees and gasped for breath. Kyou was still asleep, leaving you alone to drown in the cesspool of emotions. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Man of few words and fewer emotions.

_I can’t live without you anymore. I need you._

Your heart was leaping into your throat. Your face burnt so hot. In another sense, it felt like you were dying; but god, you were so, so fucking happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it boys


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has smut. if you're not into that... tl;dr they're happy w each other now !!!! and if u are into that. e n j o y . . .

You had no idea what to say on the drive back to his apartment. He didn’t offer you much help, either, moodily staring out the window so that you couldn’t even gauge his expression. Your wipers provided most of the noise, swiping rhythmically. The radio filled in white noise, but it didn’t do much to help you put a stop to your overthinking. There were so many ‘whys’ up in the air that you wanted to ask, but you weren’t brave enough to voice any of them. Suffer in silence, it seemed.

Shrugging your bag onto your shoulder, you followed him up the stairs to the familiar flat on the second floor. In your haste all you had brought was a pair of PJs, your laptop, and a toothbrush. You had no idea where things were going to go when you woke up tomorrow. Hell, you had no idea what things were going to look like in a few minutes. If there was one thing Wakatoshi was good at, it was shaving years off your life from stress. So much for soulmates growing old together. You’d be dead by 25.

You opened the door for him, feeling pitiful as he fumbled with the keys and his crutches. Heading inside, everything looked the exact same as you left it. It looked even emptier, if that was even possible. You hit the light switch.

“You really need some décor,” you joked, hoping it’d lighten the mood. You dropped your bag in the boot room and turned to him. “It looks dead in he—”

He kissed you so roughly your back hit the closet door. His body weight was too much for you to support and you both staggered backwards. He pinned you against the surface, your spine still stinging from impact. His tongue was hot in your mouth, greedy and strong. Quick learner. Your hands gripped his elbows desperately.

“Sorry,” he declared suddenly, pulling back just as abruptly as he’d gone in. His hair stuck up wildly from drying wrong. His eyes were wide. “I should’ve asked.”

“Uh… yeah, you should’ve,” you gasped, wiping the side of your wet mouth with the back of your hand. He looked different, all of the sudden. He’d been so quiet in the car, almost taciturn—his eyes burnt now, so furiously passionate you felt a chill of fear trickle down your spine. It tickled in your gut. 

“Can I—?”

You kissed him before he could finish, reaching up and pulling down the collar of his cotton shirt. It was still slightly damp and cool from when he’d trudged over in the rain. With fabric clenched between your fingers, you squeezed out moisture as you pulled him into you as closely as you could. It was such a desperate gravity; the way magnets snap together and never come apart. You couldn’t get close enough.

“Bed,” you whispered when you pushed him away to breathe. His own chest was heaving dramatically, the breaths hot on your chin. He nodded and the two of you shifted over, eyes locked.

You closed the door behind you. Injured, he was still limping around slowly. Carefully, you led him to the bed and sat him down on the edge of it. He watched you with careful eyes. Your hands drifted to his hips, sliding under his shirt. He flinched, and his abdomen grew taut under your fingers. The skin was cold, rigid, having lost its heat to his soaked clothes. You’d never felt the body of such a conditioned athlete before. Fuck, he was _hot_ , unfairly so. You pulled his shirt up over his head and grabbed the hem of your own, crossing your arms over yourself and flinging it to the side.

“Are you sure?” he asked all of the sudden, grabbing your arm to stop you when you reached back to him. His fingers lay over the soulmate tattoo, covering his name. You were confused for a minute, because obviously you were horny and very very sure, but then you remembered why he might be concerned. That night… it haunted you endlessly. It was always times you didn’t expect it. You’d be sitting in the cafeteria, minding your own business, when a pair of nursing majors sitting beside you would discuss a chemical makeup of a drug. Chemicals. Drugs. GHB. And you’d go down the cold tunnel again, remembering, _hating_ , and the cold sweat would never wash away. Shivering, crying alone—

But he was warm, and he was here.

“If it’s you, I’m sure. I only want you.”

His grip relaxed. You scooted onto the bed beside him, kicking off your pants. He struggled with the ankle brace and sweats, but managed. A growing bulge in his dark boxers made your gut stir. Your underwear wasn’t particularly impressive, since you hadn’t exactly expected to be seen in it tonight—your plain navy bra and mismatched maroon underwear looked black in the darkness anyways. You wondered if he was looking at you and thinking the same sinful shit you were, because he looked like he’d been sculpted by Michelangelo’s or some other kind of heavenly blessed artist’s hands. You gave mental thanks to his parents and ancestry. They did good work.

He crawled up to the head of the bed. You placed your hand in the middle of his chest and threw your right leg over him, straddling him. God, his body radiated so much heat that you were sweating just sitting here. An uncontrollable shiver ran through your body when you felt his erection grind up against you. His breath caught; you felt it hover right under your palm. 

“Don’t you need…” He sounded unsure for once and motioned awkwardly. 

“I take birth control,” you replied, realizing what he was trying to say. You cocked your head and felt your brows knit together. “Hey… have you ever done this before?”

“No,” he replied, deadpan.

You shouldn’t laugh—but you smiled, having to bite it down. Oh, Wakatoshi… never change. You took his hand and raised it up your back, directing his fingers to your bra clip.

“I’m honoured to be your first,” you whispered, dipping your head. You kissed him. He was still unconfident—this was probably the least assured you’ve ever seen him at anything, besides math problems and taxes. His fingers fumbled with your bra. You pulled back, about to help him before something gave and you felt the band slacken. Shrugging it off, you tossed it aside. 

It’d been a while since you had sex. Though back then, you didn’t really care, doing it for the sake of having done it rather than actually wanting to. You looked down at his face, shyly balancing yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders. You tried reading his expression, wondering what he thought of you, since he’d never seen you naked before. His eyes danced up and down your body.

“Are you okay?” you asked worriedly when he didn’t say anything. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, swimming on his throat.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your heart surged. Leaning to the side, you helped tug off his boxers. His cock sprung up—shit, he was huge. A vein seemed to pulse at the side. Well, obviously you should’ve expected this, but the sheer size amazed you so much that you stared at it for an embarrassingly long time. He shook you out of your reverie by hooking a finger around the waist of your panties. You obligingly kicked them off and got back into position. Unsure, his hands hovered; you grabbed them and placed them onto your hips. You were slick; the heat burnt uncomfortably between the two of you. You could feel the tip of him slip against your navel, practically bouncing against your stomach. Were you even going to be able to take him?

“Shit,” you breathed, your eyelids fluttering. Your legs were already quivering on either side of him. Clenching your jaw, you had to grasp the base of his shaft and raise yourself up. His dark pubic hair was rough, though the skin of his penis was impossibly hot and smooth. Slowly, slowly, you lowered yourself onto him.

“[Name]?” he asked concernedly, holding you steady at the waist. His voice had somehow gotten even deeper, huskier. How dare he get even _more_ attractive. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. When your inner thighs touched his pelvis again, he was so fucking deep you thought you were going to come instantly. You re-opened your eyes, panting deeply with lust. Your lips were parted lewdly. You rose and lowered your own hips in example, feeling him stretch you in a way you never could’ve even imagined. Your heart was racing so quickly you could barely hear. “You’re so fucking…”

He shifted under you, trying to sit up a bit higher. The slight change in position triggered something inside of you and you yelped, your hands falling to either side of his head. You clenched the sheets between your fingers. He froze, as if he hurt you, but that was far from it.

“Fuck me,” you pleaded in a gasp, eyes wide as you stared down at him. Your hips trembled on his. “God, Wakatoshi, _fuck me_ already.”

Tentatively, he jerked his hips up. Another moan ripped itself out of your chest. You let your head fall down beside his, burying your face into the crook of his neck. It was humid as you gasped into the dark space. The first thrust was him testing the waters, sliding in and out with controlled precision. _Is this it?_ he’d been asking. God, yes. You didn’t realize just how starved you’d been of sex; it felt so _fucking_ good. It had never felt this way before. 

You thought he might be a quiet person, the type to be eerily silent even ‘till he came—but his breaths came in choked, desperate utterances. You’d never felt more impure, driven by fervid lust alone. He sounded so fucking hot in your ear, so strained and frantic; you felt his cries vibrate against your own chest. It almost sounded like he was in pain as he squeezed you, fingers digging deep into your ass. As for you, you’d always been able to hold everything in, having done scandalous shit in high school bathroom stalls where acoustics had betrayed any hope for secrets. It wasn’t like any of the guys had screwed you well enough to deserve even a half-hearted ‘yeah’. But Ushijima fucked you in a way that was totally out of this fucking world and you were fucking _screaming_ , pulling hair out of his scalp and clawing him and slamming the pillows with your fists in insurmountable pleasure. You couldn’t keep track of the amount of times you came, your hips jerking and body seizing in rhythmic contractions. He grew more and more desperate, sounding almost angry with you with the moans wrangled out of his vocal cords. Ruthless pounding. That’s all you could describe it as. The stamina that comes with a pro athlete was simultaneously astounding and terrifying. At one point you considered begging him to stop, your sanity hanging on by a thread. But he was so addictive that you couldn’t. You just swallowed the pain.

“Don’t you fucking come yet,” you hissed, feeling another orgasm building up at the base of your navel. You raised yourself on rickety arms and slammed your own hips down as he rose up. Rocking back and forth, the synergy was explosive. You felt his knees on your back, supporting you. The stars danced on the back of your lids. He grabbed your forearms, the pressure tight and painful. You ignored it, your mind occupied with his cock stuck so fucking deep inside you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. “Don’t…”

“ _You_.” He snarled, his face screwed up in concentration. He threw his head back, jaw tight. You heard it smack against the headboard dully. He’s never shown himself to be so vulnerable to you before. His breathing was quick and shallow. The way the syllables rolled off his tongue, shaky and weak, rising and falling in intonation with each thrust: “ _[Name]_ —!”

That was it. Hearing your name in his mouth; it _burst_ , explosively. All-consuming. You shrieked. It was like you’d been hit by a bus or something. You collapsed onto him, spastic. Forceful contractions radiated up and down your body. A rush of ardour fogged your mind as you twitched uselessly. His moans were muted and caught in the base of his throat, the way they are when you try to hold it in but it’s all spilling out anyways. He rasps into your neck, somehow picking up speed.

“Wakatoshi!” you wailed tearfully, convulsions still rocking your body as he continues to ram you after climaxing. When you opened your eyes, face pressed to his chest, you saw blurs of black… your name on his chest. You’re losing your mind as you mumble, each word jittering as your body rattles in his arms. “I love you, I love y—”

You had never said ‘I love you’ to him before. You’ve said it before to other people, brain-addled by dick and alcohol and naïve idiocy, and maybe you had actually meant it a little back then. The way you kinda love guilty pleasures even though they’re no good for you. The way you love things knowing full well you’ll forget about it later. But here, to him, you meant it. You really meant it. It wasn’t just because you were phasing in and out of consciousness, ascending past any boundary of sexual pleasure—you had never loved anybody so deeply. Here it felt like you finally understood why people had soulmates. You melted into him, embodied him; your spirits became one. One love. One person. One life.

“Why are you crying?”

You lay on your back, dazed. Sitting up, you realized he was right, and there were hot tears overflowing from your eyes. The towel he’d gotten for you dropped to the wrinkled sheets as he peered down into your face. He reached out and brushed them away gently with the same hands that had imprinted Ushijima-shaped bruises on your hips. His eyes were heavy with worry.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking guilty.

“No, you didn’t,” you sniffled. You tried to smile but started to cry harder, the sobs wracking your sore chest. “I-I don’t know why I’m crying… I swear I’m happy…”

It was catharsis. A full bleed of emotions, good and bad and everything in between. You wept yourself bone-dry, allowing Ushijima to pull you into his hug. Your bodies were still sweaty and stuck together grossly, humidity clinging to damp, stinky crevices. But it was so nice to be held, and so comfortingly warm. You laid your hand over the soulmate tattoo, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your fingertips. When you finished crying you felt nothing besides quiet content. Sniffling, you and he lay together, entangled for a while. 

“I love you,” you whispered again, more seriously this time now that you weren’t in the middle of something. You turned your head up to look at him, noticing that he was already looking down at you. You knew before he even said it. Tracing over your name under his collarbone, you felt each word vibrate under your sensitive fingertips:

“I love you too.”


	20. Chapter 20

You woke up after a comfortable sleep, and the pain immediately settled. Wincing, you tried moving your hips. The inside of your legs ached, and your, for lack of better euphemisms, _nether region_ … ouch. Ushiwaka was a beast—and he was a goddamn _virgin_? You were going to be so screwed when he figured his shit out. Literally.

He seemed to wake when he felt you stirring. Wakatoshi opened his eyes, slowly blinking at first until you seemed to come into focus. You rolled over to face him. 

“Morning,” you whispered hoarsely. His eyes slid up to yours. He started leaning in before you realized what he was doing, and you barely caught him by putting a hand up and pressing your palm against his lips.

“Hey, slow down!” you protested. “At least brush your teeth first.”

“But…” 

You moved your hand away from his face and saw him pouting at you. What a bratty guy… when he doesn’t get what he wants, he sulks. It’s kind of endearing, but you’re not keen on teaching him bad habits and scowl. 

“Brush your teeth.” You pushed him on the arm insistently. “Go. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine.” 

He rose, bedhead slicking the back of his dark hair up into one giant cowlick. You stopped yourself from laughing so he wouldn’t notice and comb them down. Blearily, he shuffled to the end of the bed and hopped out. You heard his funny limp on the floor recede, and then water quietly ran in the pipes.

You looked down at yourself and blanched. Holy shit, Ushi. Pressing on the scarlet crosses speckled across your chest, you counted at least eight big ones. One was crescent shaped and dotted the way human teeth are arranged. In the heat of the moment you hadn’t noticed all of these hickies, but the dull ache of them was kind of… pleasant? Looking down at them, it gave you a little thrill. A slut’s pride, in a way. You tenderly palpated your neck self-consciously, wondering if he’d given you any up here.

He came back when you were playing with a particularly sore one on your breast. Resting against the doorframe, you noticed his eyes glued to your body.

“No way,” you groaned, though it was lighthearted. “You want to go for round two?”

“Well.” He looked embarrassed to be caught in the act. There were so many sides of him that only you were seeing… the love swelled in your chest and you raised a finger, beckoning him.

“I know your foot’s broken and all, but if you do all the work, I’ve got no complaints.” 

You laughed when he promptly leapt back into the bed with you. His hand slipped under the cover, dragging you in close.

“Wait. Wait a sec,” you remembered, pawing his arm away. “I should text Rei so she can come take look at your ankle.”

“ _Later_.” 

With that said (see definition for: ordered), he kissed you, burying you deep into the pillows. Laughing into the kiss, you accepted his weight. Touching him, holding him, loving him—yeah. It all felt right.

\---

“A dog?”

“Yes. _This_ dog. He’s a rescue and he needs a forever home. He doesn’t shed. And look at how _cute_ he is! Your place allows dogs, so it’s perfect. We _have_ to adopt him.”

“I. Uh.” He put down his bag, having just come home from a game. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off yet. “What’s this all of the sudden?”

“I got an Instagram ad,” you muttered sheepishly. You stuck your phone screen back into his face determinedly and pointed, your nail clacking on the screen. “But look at him! Isn’t he just calling your name?”

“You want to adopt a dog?” he repeated slowly. You clicked your tongue.

“Yes. Stop lagging and keep up.”

“I… what?”

“God, you’re slow.” You put your phone down, resting it against your hip as you frowned up at him. Slowly with exaggerated enunciation, you said, “can we please adopt this dog, Ushijima?”

“Are you going to be able to take care of it?” he asked, still bewildered. “You’re busy at school, aren’t you? And the season has re-started.”

“Yes, I’ll take care of him. _We_ will. But I’ll do most of it. I promise.”

He seemed to hesitate, but silence wasn’t a no, so you leapt onto your chance. Batting your eyelashes, you gave him the best pleading face you knew, leaning your hand forwards onto his chest and rising on your toes.

“Please, Wakatoshi? It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

“…yeah, sure.”

“Yes!” you screeched. “Thanks, my love!” 

You kissed him sloppily on the cheek and turned back to the couch, hurrying over so that you could e-mail the adoption company. Busied, you didn’t notice his soft smile. How could he ever say no to you?

\---

“[Name].”

“Mmm…”

“You should eat.” 

“Yeah, I’ll eat once I finish this…”

“You’ve been saying that ever since I got home.”

She peeled her eyes away from the laptop blearily. She was wearing one of his old Shiratorizawa shirts, the hem dragging at her thighs like a dress. Her hair was a mess, greasily slicked back, and she’d been wearing the same pair of gym shorts for what seemed like the entire weekend. 

“I’ll eat soon,” she promised distantly, though her words didn’t hold much merit. “But I have to take Waka out first.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked down at the dog lying at her side, his large brown eyes wide and pleading. “Waka” after “Wakatoshi”, she’d said, claiming his namesake without his permission. Though the puppy was more of a 若 than he was—that is, a spoiled ‘young lord’. Ever since Waka came home, Toshi was neglected. It was embarrassing to admit even to himself that he was jealous of a dog, but _he_ wanted to be the one kissing her, not this furry brat on four legs. Any time he was in the mood, she wasn’t, preoccupied with whether or not Waka would cry from separation anxiety. He was a cute dog, surely, weighing in at twenty or so pounds with curly fuzzy hair and floppy ears. Still… the dog had straight up stolen his woman.

Waka sat up, seeming to sense a shift in the mood, and stared at him longingly. Clacking of keys resumed as she turned back to her work. [Name] had been working all day and despite her vague assurances, it didn’t seem like she’d be done any time soon. 

“I’ll take him,” he sighed, defeated. 

“Wait, really?” She looked back up to him with wide-eyed disbelief. “You’d do that?”

“It’ll be good cardio. Besides, it’s my dog, too. You don’t have to seem so surprised.”

She beamed. Staggering to her feet, she hopped over Waka and gave him a peck on the jaw. 

“Thanks, Toshi. See you guys later! Have fun.”

“Right,” he muttered, struggling to control his tone. She had far too much influence on him.

He herded Waka to the door, the dog perking up in the anticipation of a walk. He slipped the black harness over his small head, securing the clips and leash. 

“Bye,” [Name] called as he closed the door. Ushijima breathed in deeply, appreciating the quiet of the darkness. The evening air was cool and brisk, though it was nicer to run in these temperatures than the scorching humidity of Kyushu’s daytime. 

“Let’s go then,” he said down to his dog, who was already snuffling the balcony rails interestedly. 

For such a small creature, Waka kept up well. At some points he even tried pulling ahead, his pink tongue lolling out of sharp white canines. His ears flapped with each bouncing step. Ushijima kept his stride in check, pacing himself as he normally would, but it wasn’t so bad to be spending time with him. That is, until Waka came to a shortstop, nearly yanking Ushijima’s arm out of his shoulder joint.

“What?” he panted, out of breath from the incline. He squinted in the dark and realized Waka was squatting in the grass, tail up—great. Picking up another animal’s shit. How glamorous. [Name] was usually the one to do this, rising up at ungodly hours to take the dog out before coming back and re-collapsing into bed. He figured he ought to start helping out more.

Reluctantly, he crouched, tearing one of the baggies attached to the leash. Of course, having no understanding of embarrassment, Waka had to do this by the road. There was a car idled, headlamps flooding the dark. Ushijima didn’t think much of it. Despite the late hour, Oita had plenty of nightlife attractions. 

Once again, the leash was tugged. Waka bristled before barking loudly. Ushijima jumped, nearly dropping the neatly tied bundle.

“Hey. Quiet,” Ushijima hissed. It was still a residential neighbourhood, and he really wasn’t keen on dealing with a noise complaint right now. Waka ignored him entirely and kept barking, pacing back and forth. Ushijima pulled the leash back, feeling a strange amount of stubborn resistance. He clamped a hand over Waka’s snout, but felt the muffled yaps and growls vibrate under his fingers.

“What is it?” he grumbled, looking over to where Waka was facing so adamantly. The car door facing the sidewalk was open. Two shadowy figures hovered outside, a couple metres away.

“Get in already,” one muttered, barely audible. The other didn’t reply but swayed, still not entering the vehicle. Waka’s barking was starting to make Ushijima’s eardrums ache.

“Dude, could you control your fucking dog already?!” 

It was the one who had said ‘get in’. He turned onto Ushijima irritably. Once he’d moved to the side, Ushijima could see the person behind him. His brow twitched; the girl’s makeup had run, drawing dark rivers down her pallid cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” He rose to his feet and pointed. “How’s your friend?”

“She’s fine. Drank too much is all. I’m taking her home. Right, Natsu-chan?”

“Mm,” she murmured, eyelids droopy. 

_“Ushi.” Her fingers twitched around him weakly and new tears flooded over. “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry… please forgive me…”_

“Natsu, right?” he asked, stepping forwards, trying to address the woman. “How do you two know each other?”

“Oi. Back off, dude,” the male replied, suddenly hostile. “We’re friends.”

Ushijima took another step forward. The Natsu girl was struggling to stay standing, but even in the dark, he could tell she was trying to lean out of the man’s grasp. The man’s hand was around her wrist, gripped so tightly it must be causing pain. The dog was still going berserk at his feet, howling angrily.

“I think you should call an ambulance. She doesn’t look well.”

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s fine. This happens all the time. She just has to sleep it off.”

His eyes flicked to the girl. Her lips moved imperceptibly, but he remembered it so well that the exact same rush of emotions crashed over him once again: _help me_. The rage cooled his face and he turned back to the man.

“I’m calling the police on you.”

“For what? I should call the cops on _you_ for freaking nosing around, you psycho. Fuck off!”

“If a fight’s what you want, you’ll see that I’ve never lost.” He towered over the male, rage furling off of him in tendrils. He grabbed the man’s bicep and squeezed tightly, wrenching his hold off of the girl. “ _Leave her alone._ ”

“…screw you.” Without another word, he clutched his arm and staggered away. He slammed the back door shut and hopped into the drivers’. He sped away before Ushijima could take a good look at the plate. Whatever; that was a problem for later. The girl collapsed forwards into him, coughing weakly.

“Thank you,” she gurgled tearfully. “You…”

“Right,” he soothed, gently lowering her onto the concrete. “Let’s call the ambulance now. You’re okay.”

Waka had quieted down after the man left, sitting obediently on his hind legs as Ushijima settled the woman. As he waited for the first responder, he reached out and patted the dog on the head.

“Good boy.”

\---

“Shit. No wonder you guys were back so late. I got worried.” [Name] sipped at her tea, concern deep in her face. “Is she okay? Do you know?”

“She’s in good hands now.” He turned to look down at the dog, who was shuffling back and forth between him and [Name], sniffing their toes. “He did well. I almost didn’t notice. If it wasn’t for him, he might’ve gotten away with it.”

“Oh, Waka-chan, did you do _so good_? You’re such a good baby—yes you are! You’re mommy’s cutie baby!” She ruffled the dog’s fur wildly before turning back to him. Her smile settled, becoming more serious. Her fingers re-curled around the mug as her gaze dropped thoughtfully, heavy with memory.

“You’re a real good guy, you know? That’s two people you’ve saved now.”

“I was just doing the right thing.”

“Oh, take a fucking compliment for once in your life. Would that kill you?” She hopped off the bar stool and tugged on the zipper of his jacket. Her nose wrinkled with disgust and she promptly let go. He assumed he wasn’t so fragrant after a long run—also, the girl had thrown up on him. “Sheesh. Looks like we both need a shower.”

“You could join me.” 

“Oh?” She put her hand on her face, fingers splayed across her suggestive expression. “Toshi. You’re a dirty guy after all.”

“…yes. That’s why I’m asking you to shower with me. To get clean.”

“I have no idea if you’re just fucking with me or not these days.” She rolled her eyes and then turned around, heading off to the washroom. Calling out behind her, she added, “as long as you’re fucking _me_?”

How lewd. It stirred up his gut in a way he wouldn’t like to admit. Through his nose he sighed, glancing down at Waka, who had comfortably laid down on the couch while gnawing on a toy. It was a good family they had going on here.

“Are you coming?” [Name] asked, peering out of the washroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around her body. He smiled.

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're coming to the end... what a journey.


	21. Chapter 21

“Wait, where did I put the fucking bouquet—?!”

“I’m holding it right here, [Name].”

“Oh. Right.” You laughed nervously and took the flowers back from him, breathing a short sigh of relief. Wakatoshi gave you a knowing look.

“It’s going to be fine,” he reassured, in that flat ‘duh’ way he always talks. “You put a lot of effort into this.”

“I know. But still… I guess I’m just scared something’s gonna go wrong somehow. If everything doesn’t go perfect for Ayane and Aki, then…”

“Everything will be _fine_.” Even though you were saying it to yourself in your head already, the words in his deep, calm voice gave it a better gravitas. He reached forwards and smoothed one of your loose baby hairs back behind your ear. His touch relaxed you.

“Okay.” You sucked back a deep breath, holding it tight in your gut. “I’m gonna go check in with Yane. I think people are going to start taking their seats soon. Do you think you c—”

“You’re a beautiful maid of honour,” he interrupted fondly, ignoring you.

“I—what? Dammit, Wakatoshi, you can’t just say sweet shit like that without warning me!” You punched him in the arm, furiously fanning yourself with the bouquet. “Now I’m blushing!”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Go sit down!” you ordered hotly. He cracked a small smile and nodded obediently, heading back out onto the grounds. You took another deep breath to recollect yourself and retreated into the back room.

“[Name]-cchi!” the bride cried out, standing up when she saw you. She lurched forwards at you. “Is my make-up okay? Are my eyelashes falling off? Please tell me they’re not falling off. They feel like they’re going to fucking fly off.”

“Yane, you’re fine.” Seeing somebody more stressed than you took your nerves away. You grabbed her outstretched hands, gripping them supportively. “You’re gorgeous. The dress looks even better than in the shop.”

“Oh—I know, right? The diamonds were a good call.” She’d chosen drama—of course she had—and the train extended far behind her. The ballroom cut made her look like a princess. A lace and gemstone studded bodice hugged her petite frame, complimenting her pale skin and Nyx black hair. Impurity free calla lilies and orchids were woven into her braid, which hung all the way to her waist. She practically glowed.

“It’s almost time,” one of the other bridesmaids said all of the sudden, speaking urgently through a crack in the door. Distant music flooded in quietly. “Aki’s starting to walk out.”

“Oh my god,” Ayane gasped, clutching her chest and falling back into her seat. “Maybe we should’ve waited longer to get married. After his grad was way too quick. What if—”

“Yane,” you said forcefully, taking both of her hands in yours again and looking into her eyes. The gold irises settled on you. Your lips tugged up into a wry smile. “Your wedding is going to go great.” Borrowing Wakatoshi’s words, you added, “everything will be just fine.”

“…okay. You’re right.” She took a shuddering breath and looked up. She put on a smile, radiant. “Then let’s roll, ladies.”

Ayane’s parents stepped towards her on either side. You blew her a kiss, knowing she’d never forgive you if you got a lipstick stain on her before the ceremony. She blew one back. And so, you got in line.

Ayane and Aki were fun people and never would’ve stood for those sombre, church organ weddings. You watched amusedly as groomsmen and bridesmaids waltzed out together. You hooked your arm around the best man’s, grinning up at him. Ushi would probably be jealous when you walked past him. Too bad you wouldn’t be able to see his face. 

You had told yourself that you wouldn’t cry, but seeing Aki burst into tears and laugh in joy when Yane walked out did you in. She sucked back her tears in an impressive feat to save her makeup, but her lower lip was trembling. When your gaze drifted you noticed Wakatoshi sitting in the middle of an aisle, trying to be inconspicuous, but that was impossible for him seeing as he was a whole ass giant. He nodded at you when he met your gaze. You smiled through your tears, carefully wiping them off of your cheeks.

“Beloved guests: friends and family, we are gathered here today to witness the union between Guen Hùng Aki and Natsukawa Ayane.”

The officiant talked for a while. All you could focus on was how they were looking at each other, completely lost in another world. When the time for vows came, Aki pulled a card out of his tuxedo jacket, clearing his throat into the mic.

“I never knew my soulmate was going to be you. After all, you called me a nerd, and I think I insulted you back.” A scatter of chuckles as Aki flipped the page over, sniffling with a smile. “But it’s you. It’s always going to be you. And we knew because of our marks, but even without them, it would always be you. I have never loved anybody so deeply. I have never needed anybody so much in my life because I’m literally hopeless without you. I vow to stay with you, even when you watch the next episode without me and pretend that you didn’t.” More laughter. Yane hiccupped a giggle through her sobs. “I promise that I’ll always cherish you. And if we fight, I promise to always be there for you, because you are more important to me than anything else ever could be. There isn’t anything that gives me greater happiness than being able to call myself your husband. When we meet again in the next life, I can’t wait to fall in love with you all over again.”

“Okay, well, that was neat. Thanks for showing me up on our wedding day.” Yane laughed into the microphone he passed over, her eyes shimmering. You handed her the note-card that she’d written her speech on. She mouthed _love you_ and turned back to her groom. 

“Aki. You showed me what it’s like to be loved. You give unconditionally and ask for nothing in return. When we found each other, it was… rough. Yeah, everybody here knows, right? Uh huh! It was so bad!” Her high school classmates especially looked amused as a scatter of applause and hoots erupted in the crowd. 

“But then we grew. I got to grow with you and I’m so, _so_ glad. I’ve never met somebody so good, so passionate. You’re smart and kind and funny… you’re everything, my love. I never thought that I could be good enough for you, even though we’re soulmates.” She brushed her hand over her wrist. “I vow to be the woman that’s good enough for you, every day. I vow to never delete your save files when I’m mad at you again.” You had to stifle a laugh at that one—that’d been quite the highlight in Yane’s Petty Events series. “I promise I’ll always stay by your side, no matter what. We’re unbreakable. Nothing’s ever going to tear us apart; in this life or the millions after it.”

It’s the vows that get you. You were openly bawling now, tears streaming down your face and dribbling down your chin. Instinctively you looked back to Ushijima, who was sitting there with a comfortable smile on his face. He made eye contact with you, and for a moment, all the music stopped… and it was just you and him.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Cheers erupted. People stood and clapped and cried. Aki’s arms encircled his wife as they hugged, briefly, before separating. Holding hands, they raised them up, garnering an even louder roar of applause. The bubble blowers distributed to each seat were uncorked and iridescent spheres filled the air. It was like happiness could be held here in your cupped hands. You glanced over to Ushijima, who stood with his hands in his pockets. He noticed you and looked back, while everybody’s eyes were on the couple. Another smile, private, meant only for you and the eyes of the heavens alone.

 _One day,_ it said.

\---

“Toshi.”

He turned around at the sound of your voice. You collapsed into the chair next to him, sighing deeply.

“How are you?” he asked wryly, seeing your exhausted frame slump forwards towards him. He held you loosely, a large hand warming the small of your back through the thin dress.

“Tired. I barely saw you all night. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re busy.”

That was an understatement. From giving the address to attending to the reception and everything else in between as the maid of honour, you hadn’t had enough time to spare a breath, much less spend time with your boyfriend. It was after dinner now by the time you were able to break away from your duties to scope him out. 

“Are you having fun?” you asked worriedly, leaning away to look at him. He wasn’t the social type, awkward as hell, and you worried that he’d burnt out or something.

“Yes. I saw my old trainer Yaeko from high school. She’s—”

“Ayane’s older brother’s wife? Yeah. I know. Small world.”

“I’m glad,” he hummed, running his hand down your bare arm. “It connects us.”

“We’ve always been connected, silly.” You reached up and touched your hand to his collarbone. He placed his own over it, his fingers wrapping around yours. You looked over at the table, noticing a clean wine glass at his placemat.

“You’re not drinking?” you asked.

“No. I’m an athlete.”

“Right,” you replied sarcastically. “How could I forget.”

“Are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You shook your head.

“Even though it’s probably very tasty, very expensive champagne… I’m underage. And besides, I know better now.”

He smiled in a way not many people would notice; but you were one of them. A lot of people thought he was expressionless, but he wasn’t. You just had to fine-tune your vision a bit. You pulled your arm away and heaved yourself back up onto your stinging feet.

“Okay. Let’s dance.”

“I don’t know how to dance,” he replied, stubbornly remaining in his seat even as you pulled.

“Me the fuck neither, but it’s a wedding! Let’s throw it back. We _have_ to, for Aki and Yane.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

You snorted and gave him another tug. “You don’t have to, old man. Dance with me. Please?”

He would always give you what you wanted if you busted out the ‘please’ and stood reluctantly. The only dancing you knew was from elementary school physical education, and he was far worse off, but the two of you held hands and bumbled around the floor regardless. It was a night you’d never forget. 

He carried you to the car obligingly, your heels dangling from your fingers. The night air was chilly, but his back radiated comforting warmth. You hung your head over his neck sleepily, sighing contentedly with the steady sway of his gait.

“Do you think Waka misses us?” you asked tiredly.

“I’m sure he does. He’ll be happy when we’re home.”

“That’s good… I missed him.” A pause. “Hey, Wakatoshi?”

“Hm.”

“I love you,” you breathed into his ear. You saw his eyes flicker to yours. The lightest smile graced his face like a sliver of a crescent moon in the endless expanse of the star-spangled sky.

“As do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my ocs so much *dabbing tears away from my eyes even though i wrote it and created these characters myself*  
> i do have references for what they look like here ( https://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/190303569756/some-references-for-my-ocs-i-made-in-piccrew-1 ). if you were curious, haha


	22. Chapter 22

You breathed heavily as you clambered up the stairs, winded by the walk around the neighbourhood. That damn Ushijima. He’d retrained Waka to pull on his leash. Even if you gave him a talking to, that man gave into Waka’s puppy-dog eyes just as easily as he gave into you. It’d be no use. You were so pre-occupied with reprimanding your dog that you didn’t realize somebody was standing in front of you.

“Um. Can I help you?” you asked tentatively. He seemed to be confused, staring at your name plate. (It was Ushijima’s, actually, your name not yet tacked on). He turned when he saw you, blinking in surprise. You didn’t think that you’d ever seen him before, but something about him seemed familiar.

“Yes, actually. Can you tell me if Ushijima Wakatoshi will be in any time soon?” He pointed at your door sheepishly.

“What do you need to see him for?” you asked, stopping yourself from revealing the truth. Who knows what this stranger wanted with your boyfriend? For all you knew, he was some crazy stalker fan. But Waka didn’t seem upset, and he usually had a good nose for bad guys.

“You see, I’m actually his—”

\---

“Dad?!”

Ushijima was panting for breath, looking like he’d run all the way here from the store. He stared with disbelief as he tumbled into the boot room. You weren’t sure why you were surprised to see him address his father by ‘dad’. Maybe you were expecting the stone-faced man to bust out the respectful ‘father’. Relieved that he was finally here, you sipped at your tea to hide your face.

“Wakatoshi,” Takashi chided, turning to his son from his seat across from you. “You never told me that you were living with your soulmate!”

“Why are you here?” Ushijima pressed, ignoring his father’s complaint entirely as he kicked off his shoes and stormed into the living room. He looked to you for answers, but you could only shrug helplessly, just as confused as he was.

“I had a two-week vacation and my work wouldn’t let me not take it. So I figured I might as well visit my son and see how he’s doing… especially since he never tells me what’s going on.” Another pointed glance at you that you pretended not to notice.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were coming?” he asked exasperatedly, sitting beside you. _The_ Ushiwaka in distress? What a sight. Too bad you couldn’t fully enjoy it due to your own current ongoing crisis. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise. It was too much of a surprise though, I guess. I’m sorry for barging in. You must have been startled.” He bowed his head to you.

“O-Oh, not at all! It’s fine.” Feeling awkward, you lunged forwards to grab the teapot. You re-topped his cup and poured one for Wakatoshi, too. You shot him a glare that begged him to get you out of this situation, but he, as always, was blind to cues. Waka was no better at help, asleep at your feet.

Takashi took his cup back, smiling warmly. “Thanks.” A short sip, his dark eyes hovering between you and Ushijima as he drank. He gently put the cup down on the coaster. “So _you’re_ the infamous [Name]-chan.”

“Yes.”

“You found each other then.” He grinned broadly. “I’m glad. I hope he’s been taking care of you. I know Wakatoshi can be a bit tricky sometimes. He’s got a good heart, but that manner of his—”

“ _Dad_ ,” Ushijima hissed under his breath. You smiled, a bit strained yourself. Probably in everybody’s best interests to keep the… not so good head-end of your relationship swept under the rug.

“It’s been great with Wakatoshi.”

“[Name]’s told me a bit about herself,” Takashi begun to gush, clasping his hands together excitedly. “A second year in a tricky major like that? _Plus_ she’s cute? You got yourself a hell of a good soulmate, Wakatoshi. I can’t believe you never gave me heads.”

“It never really came up…”

“You’ve been together for over a year and you didn’t let your poor old dad know? Jeez. I didn’t know I was that hard to talk to.”

You didn’t have much to offer in defense. After all, your own parents had only found out after you’d almost died, and even then, they hadn’t yet met Wakatoshi. You didn’t plan on that happening any time soon, either.

“I’m sorry for any grief he’s caused you,” Takashi continued, looking back to you sympathetically. “He gets lost in volleyball. It’s good to be passionate, but you’ve probably dealt with him, hav—”

“Dad, _stop_ it.”

“What? I’m just making conversation.”

The tension sparked. You set your own cup down, putting your hands up in surrender to hopefully stop the two bulls in your precious china shop from butting heads.

“Takashi-san, really. We’re good for each other. You don’t have to worry or apologize. Everything’s been great.”

“Just call me Dad,” he declared shamelessly, heartily waving you off. “Please don’t hesitate to. I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

Ushijima dropped his head into his hand in dismay. You’d never seen him this much of an emotional wreck before. It was kind of funny.

“Oh. If you’re staying over, I’ll need to go out and get a spare futon.” You stood, eager to depart. But he immediately shot your dream down by shaking his head.

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a hotel room. I don’t mean to overstay my welcome.”

“Aren’t you here for two weeks?” Ushijima asked, reviving himself from the dead to actually partake in the conversation.

“I’m going back up to Sendai on the weekend. I flew into Fukuoka and took the train here.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay over?” you asked, wondering if you sounded too desperate as you reluctantly sat back down. 

“Absolutely. I just wanted to catch up.” He sighed, the breath heavily laden with sentiment. “I’m happy to see you happy, son.”

“…yes. Are you well? How’s your shoulder?”

His shoulder? You glanced back over, trying not to stare. But it looked fine. He rotated it, demonstrating its range of motion.

“Stiff at night, but the heat here really helps.” Once again, he looked to you, his gaze softening. Now that you were really looking, you saw the resemblance. They didn’t share the same eyes, but the nose and jaw…

“I’m really happy you found your soulmate, Wakatoshi.”

“You know, you’ve never told me about you and mom.”

You shot a look to Ushijima. What the hell was he thinking, asking loaded questions like that out of nowhere? Did he have _no_ sense of tact or mood? Takashi didn’t seem bothered, though, apparently used to this forwardness.

“I didn’t. I never wanted to soil your hopes.”

“Well, you did,” Ushijima replied stiffly. 

“Wakatoshi,” you muttered. _Don’t be rude to your own father_ , you glared. Takashi noticed and shrugged lightly.

“It was never my intention.”

“Why did you get a divorce?” Ushijima continued to charge, leaning forwards across the table at his father. “If you were soulmates, why did you separate?”

“I think this is a private conversation,” you announced uncomfortably before his father could reply. The father-son duo stared up at you as you shot up, nudging Waka at your feet. “I’m going to excuse myself.”

“You can stay,” the two chorused in eerie unison, though the hostility from both wasn’t lost on you. You shook your head.

“This is something meant for you two. I’ll come back in a bit.” You touched your hand to Wakatoshi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “’Kay?”

“…all right.”

“Let’s go, Waka. Another walk. I know, so exciting!” you whispered urgently, herding him to the door. You stole a last peek over your shoulder as you stuffed your feet into your sandals. Wakatoshi was glaring out the window, refusing to face his father, who had opened his posture to his son. You slipped outside, and they disappeared behind the door.

Of course you’d like to know the reason for divorce in a soulmate society, but that wasn’t for your ears. It was the least you could do to encourage Ushijima to actually talk to his father about it. You hadn’t realized it’d been chewing him up this bad… he didn’t really seem the type to think about things from the past. What’s done is done and you move on—according to him. But apparently, this was deeper than anything _you_ could help him with. 

Separating even after having a kid together. Had it been amicable? What if they’d been like you and Ushijima, happy, and still ended up like… that? It was all you could think about. There were a lot of sensitive questions you had that you were dying to ask but knew you never could. It was frustrating to be so close, yet so far; you finally understood why all those aunties loved to gossip so bad. 

You took Waka for a long loop around the residential area, even letting him run off-leash at a park. Would half an hour be enough time for such an important heart-to-heart? It wasn’t like you could call or text Wakatoshi to ask if it’d be okay to come back, since the moron never answered his phone. You just had to go off your gut feeling. By the fourty five minute mark you were sick of watching Waka sniff he concrete and headed back. When you opened the door, you almost felt like a criminal breaking in, tentatively peeking inside to gauge the situation. Ushijima and Takashi had stood up, and they were—aw. They were _hugging_.

“[Name]-chan!” Takashi greeted joyfully, noticing your entrance despite your best efforts to be quiet. Waka whined and cried until you unhooked the leash. Immediately, he bounded off to Takashi, leaping up onto the older man in excitement. 

“Hey! Off! Mind your manners!” you snapped, mortified, but Takashi didn’t seem to mind, crouching and allowing Waka to go wild with sloppy kisses.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” Ushijima asked, his hands in his pockets as his father played with the dog. 

“You’re leaving?” you asked, surprised. “You should stay. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Wakatoshi, right?”

“Naw, I refuse to be the old man that troubles his kid. If it makes you feel any less guilty, I’ve got dinner plans with a teammate from college anyways.”

“Our house is always open for you,” you insisted. He smiled and shook you off.

“Thanks, darling. Next time I visit I’ll be sure to give heads.”

You and Ushijima walked him to the door as he went to put his shoes back on and take his coat. He glanced to you and him, his expression soft.

“All right. I’m off. Try and keep in touch, son.”

“Take care, Dad.”

“And it was really good to meet you, [Name]-chan. I was always hoping you’d be wonderful, and you definitely are. Take care of my boy, please.” He took your hand in both of his, clasping it between warm, weathered palms.

“I will, T… er, Dad.”

He beamed proudly. And, with one last wave to you and him and Waka, he left. You turned to Ushijima once the door swung shut, who had gone and collapsed into one of the chairs at the counter.

“How was that?” you asked concernedly, walking up to him. You weren’t going to ask him for details, but he looked genuinely tired. To your surprise he cracked a soft smile, one hand drifting behind the small of your back to cradle you close.

“It was… good.” He didn’t elaborate and let his head drop forwards onto your shoulder. It was a rare display of vulnerability that you weren’t quite ready for. You ran your hands up his shoulder blades and held him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He raised his head. It looked like he’d gotten his questions answered, and just seeing the peace on his expression relaxed you. “Hey. Can I tell you something?”

“Shoot.”

“I love you. Forever.”

Your lashes fluttered unconsciously. “What? _Forever_?” you repeated, your humour defense mechanism triggering a wry smile. “That’s a really long time.”

“It is, yes.” He leant forwards and you only had enough time to close your eyes before he kissed you. He’d grown with confidence since the beginning, and quite honestly, it was all you could do to keep up with him some days. Your heart thrummed with the sweet thrill of affection.

“Love you too, Toshi. Forever and always.”

“Is that more than forever?” he asked innocently. You snorted.

“Yeah, ‘cause it adds ‘always’ onto ‘forever’. Duh.”

“Then I love you with two forevers and an always.”

“Oh, aren’t you the math king? This isn’t even a competition, y’know.”

“I win.”

You didn’t think there was anything to worry about.


	23. Chapter 23

It’d been a pretty decent day so far. You’d had a productive day at school after lecture and felt pretty good about your quiz. Coming home was always a highlight of your day, now, unlike the dread of before’s loneliness. You had Waka to greet you now, and everybody knows that a dog’s joy is contagious. Also, Wakatoshi was going to be home for once, not having a game scheduled tonight. It’d been a while since the two of you had eaten dinner together. You thought about it excitedly the whole drive home. Japanese or Western food? Should you stop and get groceries first to surprise him—or maybe it’d be better to eat in, spending time on other things? You were a foot in the door when you saw him waiting at the counter. Your smile broke.

You already knew it was bad news by looking at his expression.

“Is everything okay?” you blurted out nervously, unable to put up a buffer when you saw him staring at the marble with such a hardened expression. Waka was scratching at your knees happily, whining for your attention, but you could only give half-hearted scratches. Your chest felt tight and heavy as you walked up to your lover.

“Yes,” he responded, but it was despondently somber. “But I have something important to talk about with you. You might want to sit down.”

You nodded and swallowed thickly. His face was unreadable as always and gave you no hints as to what everything was about. Your head was running the Hakone Ekiden. Was it about you? About him? God, you were so nervous—you sat stiffly, locking your clammy palms together. Taking a deep breath, you asked again, repeating yourself,

“What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“My coach informed us of a shift of home stadiums. We’re relocating to Sendai.”

_Sendai, Miyagi?_

Deadpan, he continued, giving you no time to think in between. “We’re expected to move by the end of next week. 

That’s all.”

“…oh.” It felt like he’d socked you in the gut and you were deflating, bleeding out onto the floor. “So… that’s it? You’re moving up north next week?”

“Yes.” His golden eyes flickered between the two of yours. “I’ve already signed a lease for an apartment in Sendai.”

Everything he said seemed to be flying over your head. You picked at your nails fretfully. He hadn’t said anything about this. Had he been trying to hide it or something? “U-um—when did you find out about this?”

“Last week.” Finally, he looked uncomfortable and shifted his weight in his seat. “You said you had a quiz today. I didn’t want to put anything on your mind until it was over.”

“Right,” you breathed, trying to control your expression and hide your grief in the face of his thoughtfulness. You just couldn’t help it though. What were you going to… _do_? Wakatoshi was packing up and moving hours away for who knows how long. You had _just_ come to terms with each other. How was this possibly fair?

“[Name].” He reached out and took one of your hands in his before you could gouge out your skin with your nails. You let your fingers relax around his, but his warmth was searing hot against the cold of your own. Seriously, he looked at you in the eyes, in a way that gave you absolutely no escape. There was nowhere to run. “I want you to come with me.”

“Wakatoshi…?” Your jaw hung slackly. You hadn’t even considered coming with him, only desperately trying to think of ways to make long distance work. Did he want you to just drop _everything_ for him? Your family and friends were all here. You were halfway through a degree at your university. You’d never moved away out of this city, much less to a different island of Japan—just _what_ did he expect from you?

“Give it some time and think about it.” His hand slipped away from yours and you missed the touch immediately, yet you made no move to reach back out. “I’ll just need to know by next week. I’m sorry for having you make a tough decision, but…” Finally, his steadfast tone begun to falter, and he looked down. “I’d like to have you with me. That’s all.”

“Uh... this is a lot to think about.”

“I know.” He looked genuinely apologetic, but suddenly stood up. You finally noticed that he was wearing jogging clothes. “I’ll be out for a run. There’s yakisoba in the fridge.”

“Oh—are you coming back later?”

“Yeah. I just think you should talk to some people about moving.” He shrugged his hood on and gave you a last nod. “I don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret.”

You didn’t have anything to say back to that. Waka, sensing that his master was leaving for a beloved walk, bolted to the door and left your legs cold. Distantly, you looked away as your lover left, letting the door swing shut behind him. Now that you were finally alone, you let yourself fully breathe, the air wobbling out of your throat. 

Oh my god.

So, in the most basic rudimentary way of thinking about of it, you had two options. You could stay here in Oita, your home town, and continue living your life without your soulmate. You’d done it before for 18 whole years before. When you finished your degree, you could go ahead and migrate up north and reunite with him. And the two of you could visit in between. It wasn’t the end of the world.

So why did it feel like your world had just gone and left you behind?

You wanted to say that you were strong enough to be on your own, but after falling so deeply in love with somebody, the mere thought of separating from him was enough to make you sick. The nausea turned, and chills settled damply on your skin. Could you really do it? Could you just keep living your life in a long-distance relationship? Plenty of people did it every day. But, the loss of his touch… not being able to see his smile or his sleeping face every night… not eating with him, not going for walks with the dog you raised together, not being able to hold his hand or stroke his jaw for _years_. Having to live on days of contact, far and few in between. You hated to admit it, but… you didn’t think you could manage. Because of the way he was, Ushijima just wasn’t good at reaching out and keeping good company. If he moved away, he would never call. It wasn’t from bad intentions, but nobody changes who they fundamentally are at the drop of a hat. It’d be just as _painfully_ lonesome as before, but even worse, for you wouldn’t even be living with him.

So, option two: go with him and leave everything behind.

It was terrifying to even consider. You’d never really left home for long. You’d be abandoning your parents to be by themselves, hours away in the case of an emergency. Especially after your little stunt, would it be fair to them to pack up and skip off to Sendai just because a man asked you to? What about school? You’d have to apply for a new university and figure out which credits transferred. Some might not, and you’d be wasting even more time after your earlier hiccups. Could you bear to leave your best friends behind? Kyou, who hadn’t had anybody when she first moved to Japan, naming you her first friend in a foreign land. Rei and Chie, who’d been by your side since _high school_. Ayane, who had you as her maid of honour. Could you really just leave everything you knew and start again?

He came home with Waka a few hours later, wind-swept and quiet. It was obvious that he felt too awkward to re-address the situation and excused himself to shower. You mulled over cold noodles, still torn between the two. The logical thing to do would be to stay put and finish your education. After all, if you stayed in Oita and he left to Sendai, it wasn’t like he was leaving forever. You’d finish your degree eventually and be free to go wherever you pleased after that. But every time you tried to bring yourself to accept it, it just stuck in your throat. Staying home meant losing him. Not forever, no, but for enough time that it shattered your essence. There’s a reason it’s a _soulmate_ society. You’re so hopelessly in love with him that—God, you hate to say it—you _need_ Ushijima Wakatoshi. It’s not that he pays for you and takes care of you or anything, though he’s done plenty of that. It’s that you _need_ to be near him and feel his strong arms around you. You need to be able to press your face into the warm underside of his neck, absorbing his scent into the ridges of your brain. It’s that you need him to make such furious, passionate love to you, the kind you daydream about with crossed legs. You need him to whisper “I love you” on the bad days. You just need to be able to come home to him.

You don’t have that much time to make the decision. Until the end of the week, he’d said. But the next day you already saw cardboard boxes appear in the living room. Clothes were disappearing from his closet. You tried to keep going on as normal, promising yourself that you’d make the right decision with some proper thought, but the panic was building like a store of acid in your teeth. Were you going to lose him forever just when everything had turned around?

“Hey, Toshi… you want me to come with you, right?”

You watched him wordlessly sort papers out of his drawers, shredding some and packing the others away in envelopes. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, there wasn’t anywhere else for you to be. He’d been continuing his moving process while pretending like he wasn’t, as if you wouldn’t notice. For him, it was easiest to just not talk about it. You saw a tendon jump in his jaw, the way it does when he on the rare occasion gets nervous.

“…yes, I do. But my opinion shouldn’t shape your choice.” He closed a folder, stuffing it away. You stared, following the movement. Locking things up and moving on. Shakily, you took a deep breath and spat the words out before you could deliberate any further.

“I… I think I know my choice now.”

He froze and looked up at you. “Are you sure?” he questioned when you didn’t continue, your gaze heavy to the sheets. He came forwards and sat in front of you, his weight tilting your forwards. His voice was hauntingly quiet and deep. “There’s still time for you to think about it.”

“I can’t think about it anymore. I’ll go crazy.” You inhaled deeply and squeezed your eyes shut. “Wakatoshi. I’m going to…”

And you said it out loud, making it real for the first time.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end....... (crying

“Ugh, Sei-chan is so cute… who knew Taki’s ugly ass could come out with such a cute kid?”

“Yane,” you chided tiredly. “You’re too young to have baby fever.”

“I know, but just _look_ at him! He’s so chubby and smiley and… ugh.” She squeezed the infant to her chest adoringly. “Auntie loves you so much, you handsome widdle man!”

“D’you really think Aki’s responsible enough to be a parent right now?” you continued skeptically. “Are _you_?” 

Ayane pouted. “I know, I know… wait ‘till after I’m out of school. But _look_.” She brandished the baby at you like a prize. “He’s just so adorable.”

“He is a cute kid,” you conceded. He’d inherited the Natsukawa golden eyes but had Yaeko’s cherubic face. Seiya was obediently quiet, too, looking around at his world with a curious but calm expression. Ayane snuck a look at you before turning back to her nephew, playing with his cheeks.

“…you’re sure about this, right? I’d hate to see you upset because of him. Again.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly. “I’ve made up my mind. I just can’t see myself doing anything else… this is the way it has to be.”

“Yo, don’t talk shit about me when I’m not around. I can still hear you.” Aki suddenly emerged from the bedroom, dropping the box off with a loud thud. He clapped dust off of his hands and glanced over at you. “Anyways. Do you want to take our old shelf up with you too, [Name]?”

“Yeah. The more furniture, the better, I think.”

“Don’t swear in front of the baby, Anh!” Ayane snapped. She turned to you and her expression softened. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” she sighed mournfully. Your lips pricked upwards wryly.

“I’m just leaving ‘till the next semester, Yane.”

“I know,” she complained. “But I’m still gonna miss you for the four months. Our girls’ nights! Stupid Ushiwaka.”

“At least you’ll beat Kyushu’s heat,” Aki said, joining the three of you and sitting on the couch beside his wife. He tousled his hand through Seiya’s fine hair, looking over to you through his blue glasses. “But like, you’re really just going to let him move away?”

“I mean it sucks, yeah… but we’re soulmates.” You shrugged, inhaling sharply. “Distance shouldn’t break us up.”

“Besides,” Ayane gushed cheerfully, “he’s loaded. He can probably fly back any time he wants. Or fly you up. How glamorous…”

“Don’t look at me like that, Em. I don’t see _you_ raking in the cash.”

“Well, whatever. As long as you’re sure.” She bounced Seiya, who was reaching out for your hair. You let him play with it, ignoring the sting of your scalp.

“It wasn’t an easy decision to make,” you admitted quietly. “I’m scared I’ll miss him too much, or…”

“You won’t drift apart.” The heartfelt declaration came from Aki, who moved to unwind Seiya’s tight grip off your locks of hair. His dark eyes were gentle in that older brother way. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Ayane nodded in agreement, serious for once. “You two are in love. You’ll be fine no matter what.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“When am I ever wrong?”

“Well, there was that one time—”

“Dearest husband, I advise you to shut the _heck_ up.”

You laughed as she flicked him in the head. Seiya gurgled and cooed in content between them. This could be you and him, one day… but that day wasn’t yet here. 

Wakatoshi had accepted your resolution with a wordless nod. Knowing him, you couldn’t expect anything else. Once the semester wrapped up, you’d live with him and take your spring and summer courses online in Sendai. But then you were trucking right back down to Oita. He seemed to understand, though. There are things—passions, necessary tasks—that come before everything else. 

Besides, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not anymore.

“I’m home,” you called, letting the door swing shut behind you. He was working on something, hunched over in the living room—you realized that he was disassembling the couch. It was the last thing out here that needed to be packed away, the TV and stand already downstairs in storage. You remembered the countless nights of moping around on those grey cushions, alone and wanting and crying. There’d been so much crying. It was kind of bittersweet to see it all folded up. This was it—this was really saying goodbye to everything that had happened here.

“Hey,” he greeted, turning back to check on you. “How was Natsu—Guen?”

“They’re good. They gave us a shelf and their old cabinet. I left it in the car.”

“I’ll go move it later. Tell them thanks.”

You walked over and knelt on the floor beside him. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his chest and you leant your head on his shoulder. It stopped him from working, so he put the screwdriver down and curled his own strong arm around your waist.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when you remained quiet. He was insightful enough to say these kinds of things now. You raised your head and looked deeply into his eyes, the scattering flecks of amber iridescent.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” 

To your surprise he leant forwards, delivering a short and chaste kiss to your lips. Your grip loosened on him and you let go, allowing him to rotate his body towards yours.

“Wakatoshi—ah!?”

With nowhere to go you were forced to roll onto your back, his body pressing you right down into the hardwood flooring. His hands were at either side of your head and your body was locked between his legs.

“What?” he asked, almost innocently. A small frown. “You don’t want to?”

“I—the floor? Really?”

“I want you.” He leant down and kissed protests from your lips. His voice was husky, charmingly deep against your neck. “Now.”

“You’re insane,” you reproached, but your hand was on the back of his sweater, fingers looping under the collar to tug it off. Your laugh rung out in the small apartment, the lack of furniture seeming to make it echo.

It wasn’t easy to choose yourself over him. You knew that you were going to spend a lot of lonely nights in your dorm (again), wondering how he was faring, wondering when the next time you’d see him would be… but he had also made you strong. Your love was strong. So yeah: you didn’t think there was anything to worry about.


	25. Chapter 25

“Babe, what do you _mean_ you threw the instructions out?!”

“I don’t need instructions,” he replied indignantly without looking up. “I can build it on my own.”

“Have you ever seen a fucking chair before, Ushiwaka?” You held up the mutilated frame emphatically. “This is _upside down_.”

“Oh,” he replied, looking genuinely surprised as he finally looked over. “Sorry.”

“Ugh… let’s just take a break, okay?” You put down the scraps of wood and then lay down on the hardwood floor, sighing in agony as the pain seared through your lower back. It had been a mad dash to move everything from Oita to Sendai in time. You said your temporary goodbyes and zipped up with him before even having a second for second thoughts. In fact, he already had scheduled practices tomorrow. Everything had been touch and go. Outside the large window, the sun was close to setting, and there was still no furniture set up to actually rest properly. It felt like you’d spent all of eternity hunched over, assembling shit, but there wasn’t much to show for your work yet. Despite the exhaustion, you were a lot happier than you’d ever been in a long time.

Your soulmate waded through the obstacles polluting the hazardous space and lay down next to you. Already, you were comfortable, his warmth lending you comfort and strength. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peace.

This apartment was much larger than the last. Although he’d signed the contract before even letting you know about the move, it was kind of obvious that he got it with a couple in mind. There was a bathroom just for you, now, complete with a counter so that you could finally do your makeup in peace. The space was much more open and modernly designed—he knew you hated how dark and stifling it was back in Oita. There was even room for Waka to take trips out back with ease. The dog was still trotting in the grass, happily entertained, never having had a yard to himself before. Wakatoshi didn’t say much, but his considerateness always translated over.

“We should build the bed frame next,” he murmured, always Captain Obvious. “It wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep on the floor.”

“No way! I’m living my dream life right now. I have always wanted to sleep on hardwood. Screw the bed.”

“…really?”

“No, not really!” You looked over, laughing when you saw the concern in his eyes. “I was kidding. Just gimme a sec. My back hurts like a bitch.”

“Let me see.” 

You sat up, wincing sorely. You dug your thumbs into the tense fascia of your lower back.

“Here?” he asked, sweetly. His hands were so huge and warm that even just laying them on your skin soothed you. You moaned unwittingly, letting your eyes flutter shut as his capable fingers pressed into your skin.

“I’m really glad I met you,” you mumbled, randomly, the thought just falling into your head like it’d always been there. His grip paused before slipping around your waist, giving you a loose hug from behind. He slid you back towards him. 

“Remember what Guen said at the wedding?”

“There was a lot going on. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

You felt his chin hit your shoulder, the tip of his nose cool against the back of your ear. Sensitive, you shuddered with his gentle words.

“Even if we weren’t soulmates, it’d always be you.”

“Oh.” It was rare of him to be so outwardly romantic and your body exploded, a heated blush racing out from your core. You tiled your face away from his so that he wouldn’t notice. “Well. If you really feel that way, you should do a better job putting together the chairs.”

“I will.”

You looked over just in time to catch the hint of his smile before he kissed you, the arms locked at your waist coaxing you forwards into his embrace. It was an easy, comfortable kiss and you pulled away with adoration swelling in your chest.

“We should probably get started if we want it done within the hour.”

“Okay.” 

The two of you broke away, but no matter how far you got, there’d always be the thread linking you. It’s fate, dyed red with passion—this is what having a soulmate means. Something divine out there knew, before you and he ever would, that the two of you were meant to be. And, passing him the hammer, you were already building up your new life with him. Together.

Without him, you’d been a lonely, wallowing coward. Without you, he’d been a cold, unreachable mess. Together, you were you and he was him, but… it was more. It was more than two people. It was unspeakably large, like the entire universe had been contained between either of you. It was an expansive love that transcends space and time completely. A love that ignores distance; ignores lifetimes. You’ve never loved anybody harder than you do Ushijima Wakatoshi, and you know that it’s returned. It is the purest, highest honour you have to share your heart with him. 

_“So much for true love”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and honouring my work.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/


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